Boy Scout Syndrome
by Margo Vizzini-Montoya
Summary: How the hereditary psychiatric disorder of the Cain men screwed with my love life - Jeb
1. Laughter, Tears, and Dancing

**Boy Scout Syndrome**

**Tagline: **How the hereditary psychiatric disorder of the Cain men screwed with my love life - Jeb

**Disclaimer: **Don't own. All monies and glory goes to Syfy.

* * *

**Dr. Nowitall's Manual for Psychiatric Disorders **

_**Boy Scout Syndrome – **__the personality disorder described as a pervasive pattern of machismo, being extremely preoccupied with exhibiting stereotypical male characteristics, especially physical strength, courage, aggressiveness, lack of emotional response, and practicality._

_ Most common comorbidity: Hero Complex_

_Most common subtypes include:*_

_The Perpetual Volunteer__ – an individual who feels the compulsion to willingly offer his services without constraint or expectation of reward_

_The Undying Martyr__ – an individual compelled to sacrifice him/herself beyond all reason for 'the Cause', whatever that might be_

_*Frequently referred as the Gluttons for Punishment syndromes_

_**__ [Insert Cain men pictures here]_

**Chapter 1: Laughter, Tears, and Dancing**

DG is like the cyclone that brought her to the O.Z. The bards, minstrels, and historians say that she took the world by storm. They're wrong. She _is_ a storm, a fiery, spitfire of a storm.

But not so her sister. The eldest princess is like a creeping vine. She sneaks up on you, worms her way into the nooks and crannies of your soul, grabs hold of your heart and never lets go. Or at least, that's what she did to me.

The first time I saw Azkadellia (not including when I was a boy and she and her deadly entourage passed my family and I on the City's streets as we were leaving town) was when I came to look for my father after the Eclipse.

I had heard her voice, of course, when she instructed the Longcoats over the speakers to stand down and surrender, and I knew what DG had hoped was true about her sister – that _she _wasn't evil but was possessed by it. None of this, however, prepared me for my first personal encounter with her.

She was standing over the prostrate forms of my father, her sister, the Queen's former advisor, and their Viewer friend in an out of the way room in this giant tower maze of rooms.

Before I could react – draw my gun or knives or make a sound of protest – she raised one slender finger to her lips in a shushing motion and then nodded her head down at the quartet. I followed her gaze and looked again, and what I saw nearly made me laugh.

My father was slumped against the wall with one hand on his gun and his eyes half-open, while the youngest princess was curled up against his side, her dark head resting on his shoulder. The former advisor's head was resting on her thigh as he lay sprawled across the cold floor, limbs akimbo, and the Viewer was curled up at DG's feet. They were all soundly asleep; apparently so worn out by the day's events – no, week's events that they could not be bothered with finding proper beds.

Azkadellia looked up at me (which was surprising in itself, I always expected her to be taller) with an amused twinkle in her dark eyes, and then she extended her hands over them. There was a brief flare of light and then a blanket appeared in her hands. She gently draped that over the Viewer before doing the same with each of the others. A tender expression ghosted her delicate features when she did so for her sister and the Zipper-head.

I nearly laughed again (a record: twice in one evening) when she came to my father. She was extra-cautious with her draping of him. As soon as she let go of the blanket, she jumped and darted a few steps back, never taking her eyes off his gun hand – which only twitched slightly at the sensation of added warmth.

When she saw that I was laughing silently at her (my shoulders were by then shaking), she raised her chin defiantly at me and gave me a stiff and dignified curtsy, before turning on her heels and striding out of the room.

We returned to our separate worlds – her, to her royal suites, and me, to my people at the base of the Tower. We did not cross paths again for many months. I'm sure that was fine for the both of us. I couldn't really handle too much more of my preconceived notions being blown away so soon after those I had already experienced in that one day, and she probably needed whatever scraps of dignity she had left her.

~*~OZ~*~

The second time I had a 'moment' with Azkadellia was some months later.

After the Eclipse, I had been put in charge of a special taskforce to find, not rogue Longcoats, who were a dime a dozen and very disorganized, but their supporters, arms dealers, and the like. This search led my unit and I to the Shadow band, the kings of the Underworld, and the intel gleaned from their lackeys was that their lords and masters had made a deal not only with the Sorceress but with a dastardly devil as well – a Dr. Nikadok.

It's at his personal lab that the two princesses 'graced' my unit and me with their presence.

As an alchemist and known dabbler in the dark arts, it was assumed that Nikadok's lab was magically guarded against intruders, even long after he had abandoned it (someone must have given them advanced warning as there was not a soul in sight), and thus, we needed their assistance.

"Jeb Cain, your father says hello and please don't get blown up."

"DG, I do believe his exact words were: 'Don't blow yourself or my son up, Princess.'"

DG waved her hand dismissively at her sister's teasing, saying breezily, "Oh, there was that too."

And then while Azkadellia and I shared a look of amusement at DG's cavalier attitude, DG said brightly, "Jeb, meet my sister, Az. Az, meet Jeb."

"Hello again, Captain Cain,"she greeted softly.

"Hello, Princess."

"Wait. You've met already?"DG asked, her big blue eyes darting back and forth between us, looking almost disappointed at not witnessing our first encounter.

"Yes, informally…"Azkadellia's eyes danced with mirth, as she smirked at her younger sibling, _"…While you were sleeping."_

Her answer set the corners of my mouth to twitching, which the highly observant, younger princess noticed. Her eyes narrowed suspiciously as she began to realize that she was not only missing the joke but also possibly the butt of it.

To redirect her sister's attention, Azkadellia fixed her gaze on the front doors of the lab and said determinedly, "We've got a long day's work ahead of us, Deege. Let's get crackin'."

And so the two of them did. With their hands laced and locked together, they began to hunt down Nikadok's surprises and disarm them. I wasn't sure how exactly they went about doing that, but it seemed that DG supplied the power of their Light while Azkadellia supplied the focus. For hours, the two of them went at it, unlocking and securing the front doors, the office door, the safe, which is where the scientist kept all his records. It's at this point where I wished I had asked them to take a break and assist with perusing the man's data. Maybe then, we – and especially those two – could have been prepared for the discoveries we made.

Once past the Administration floor, we descended into the actual laboratory. The sublevel one floor was dedicated to the creating and testing of things like the Longcoats' sonic stun guns, their tracking devices like the infamous green discs, and what looked to be long-range communication devices via mirrors. Sublevels two through five involved animal experimentation becoming more despicable the lower we went. The last level seemed to be the good doctor's research on pain. The poor damned creatures were so mad and miserable the princesses felt compelled to use their life-giving and -saving Gift for the purpose of mercifully releasing them from their tortured existence.

The sixth sublevel was the truest circle of hell in Nikadok's underworld. The subjects there were not animal but Human (both Big Folk and Munchkin), Viewer, and even Papay, and what was done bears not repeating. The least horror committed was an attempt to make humans as empathic as Viewers via alchemy's brain removal and second-sight suckers. All these subjects had been terminated before the vile shit of a man had abandoned his facility.

As soon as Azkadellia and DG gave this level the all clear, the former Sorceress fled to the surface. I soon followed, only delaying my departure to assign a guard, with a much stronger stomach than I, to DG.

Azkadellia was not hard to find as she was sitting on the porch swing of this 'ranch house.' I took up a post by the swing's side, scanning the plains before us and the clear blue skies above us, anything to distract my mind from the images below. She was so quiet and still that I nearly forgot she was there until her breath hitched as she tried to stifle a tiny sob.

Seeing the tears slipping down her very vulnerable looking face, I asked hesitantly, "Princess?"

Apparently my voice was the impetus she needed for her self-possessed guard to slip back into place, because her expression immediately shuttered as she snapped, "Oh Captain, sit down. If we are to commiserate in our misery together, please, do not literally stand on formality."

Resisting the urge to snap back with something like 'I ain't the one talking all formal-like with high-falutin' words, am I now?' I silently did as she bid.

Once I appeared comfortable and lax, (I can assure you, I was anything but, as her presence was still disconcerting to me at this point), she whispered, "I thought I had seen every evil there was under the suns, with the Witch."

Not knowing what to say, I asked, "So this isn't of her doing?"

She shook her head, "I have no memory of such projects," and then even more quietly, she added, "And believe me, she would have enjoyed torturing me with every excruciating detail of his progress reports."

I said nothing in response, and at the time I felt like a dolt. But now I realize there really is nothing that one can say to something like that, to someone who has gone through that without sounding doltish.

Finally, she said, "I don't know who is behind this, but I do know someone who would know."

"And he would be?"

"Vy-sor," she replied, momentarily pausing before elaborating, "The Witch's right hand man. He was always one to have his fingers and nose in every pie."

"And this Vy-sor, could he be behind this?"

"He could," she admitted, and then she stood up with a sigh, before turning to face me for the first time since I had come out there, asking, "Tell me, Jeb Cain, son of the Mystic Man's hand-picked tin man. What would your father do in this investigation?"

I thought about it, but then shrugged, "I don't know, but I would follow the money."

"Then that's what we shall do."

Her composure restored, the eldest princess of the O.Z. headed back in to assist in the extremely boring task of financial paperwork slogging.

~*~OZ~*~

After that afternoon spent in futile detective work (all that was discovered of Nikadok's patron were his references to him as 'the Man behind the Curtain'), I didn't see Azkadellia until nearly a month later. It was a far more festive and joyous occasion however – the Queen's birthday party.

It was a big to-do. Nobles from all over, the Central City mayor and his family, Guild leaders, Resistance leaders, such as myself, my father, and Raw, were there, and all congregated in the ball room of Finaqua Palace spilling out into the gardens.

The Queen held court upon the dais, occasionally dancing with her husband or the favored quest. The Consort did the same with the addition of dancing with his daughters as well. His youngest spent her time alternating between dancing with whoever asked and trying to coax my father out onto the dance floor. I suspected he was just saying no in order to see what she would say or do next to persuade him to say that one yes. The twinkle in his eyes every time he shook his head was the biggest clue I had to go on however, so I could have been wrong.

I observed all this from the sidelines. Most of the people I cared to socialize with had sensibly declined the invitation and stayed home with their friends and families. I would have done the same except… One, like I said, my father was there. And two, I had just received orders to report to the Queen's advisory council in Central City three days from then, which means I'd have been faced with seeing the Queen's and (more frighteningly) DG's disappointed eyes filled with questions as to why I had declined. 'It's not my thing' really wouldn't have been seen as a valid excuse.

Anyways, it was from this vantage point that I was able to observe Azkadellia. She wore a form-fitting yet flowing dress of white and pale purple. She danced once with her father, a few of her parents' contemporaries, and she was now on her second dance with Lord Ambrose. He must have said something amusing because she laughed her third genuine laugh of the evening. It was a surprisingly throaty chuckle for one so tiny. I always expect it to be tinkly or something dainty like that.

As she passed me by, she flashed me a small smile before she was whorled away by 'Twinkly-Toes.' It was the fifth genuine smile she had bestowed on anyone that evening.

Now I realize that I sound like a stalkerish, love-struck boy. But for the record, I'm not. What I am is a very observant individual. For instance, General Omby was on his eighth glass of champagne, and he chugged those back every time his wife made bedroom eyes at his brother Lord Amby.

What I also am is fascinated. Who wouldn't be though? She doesn't act like one would expect a former host of an evil parasitic witch to act. She isn't a frail, fractured mind, a victim. She isn't the triumphant princess either. She's…She's something else. And until I can put a name to it, I'll probably continue to watch her.

It was this fascination which drove me to approach her after Lord Ambrose left her to pay his respects to the Southern Guild. She was standing by herself, although nearby was a group of her contemporary peers. Her head was held high and she looked completely composed. Perhaps, it was her utter stillness, but it dawned on me then that if she didn't have to deal with the same consequences as I, she would be like me and be anywhere but there.

"Your Highness, may I have the pleasure of this dance?" I asked as a waltz was struck up by the orchestra.

She gave me a small curtsy and gracefully extended her hand to me in reply, a small smile peeking at the corners of her lips.

As I pulled her into me, I noticed that she was at the perfect height to surreptitiously whisper in her ear, "And maybe afterwards a stroll in the gardens? Where I can loosen my tie and you can take off those most likely uncomfortable heels?"

Before she spun away, she answered, "The pleasure would definitely be mostly mine, Captain."

We danced in semi-comfortable silence after that, a silence which extended until we reached a partially secluded and out of the wind section of the garden. Upon sitting on the stone bench in the little alcove, she looked up at me with the tiniest of smirks, dryly observing, "You can only have two reasons to have lured me on my lonesome, Captain." At my raised eyebrows and questioning gaze she stated, "Either you are here to execute an assassination plot or you are attempting to start an assignation in secret with your royal princess."

"Those can be my _only_ two reasons, Princess?"

Brushing at her skirt, she stated neutrally, "Well, they are the traditional reasons, I believe, for these circumstances."

I chuckled at that, "Traditionalist, I am not." Seeing that she was expecting a more explanatory response, I obliged, confessing, "I needed a breather and I figured you did too…and I'm hoping if your sister sees us being friendly-like she won't scold either of us for being 'party poopers.'"

She stared at me wide-eyed for three whole seconds before bursting out into laughter, which she quickly attempted to stifle, but her chuckles continued to interrupt her explanation, "Who would have…thought that the Great Jeb C…Cain, fierce Resistance leader…would be scared of the good…sister…and would use…the former evil Sorceress as…as a buffer…?"

Shifting my feet uncomfortably, I grumbled, "Clearly no one who has witnessed her dressing down the Great Tin Man."

She tilted her head in assent. She had not been there for that, but she had no doubt heard of it. DG had taken all of three days of 'your Highnesses' and decorous behavior from her friend before she had put her foot down and told him where he could shove his proper behavior.

"_I'll take the formality and stiffness from strangers but not from my friends and that means you, Wyatt __**freaking**__ Cain! So you can take your 'appropriateness' and shove it right along with that abnormally large stick that's up your $$!" _She had insisted with frightening regality, if not civility.

My father wisely ceased to follow the dictates of decorum since – even instigating a hug or two of his own every once in a while.

Tilting her head up, so that she could gaze at the stars, she whispered, "I'll protect you from the big bad princess, Captain – for a price… You have to save me from the mayor's son, who is a very … _energetic _dancer."

"Deal," I readily agreed. What can I say? I am a disciple of pragmatism. I didn't survive the Dark Annuals by being too proud to hide behind a willing lady's skirts.

Fixing my own gaze on the wintry night sky, I asked, "So which of these is the Other-side sun?"

She went on to paraphrase Lord Ambrose's answer when she herself had asked that question, and eventually we were able to find it ourselves. But not before she had to cast a warming spell on the air around us to keep our noses and ears from being turned blue.

Once we did return to the party, we were immediately pounced upon by the Consort and the Princess; Lord Ahamo, for another dance with his daughter, and a suspicious glance for me, and DG, for an Inquisition with me. This carried on so long (since she tried to be uncharacteristically sneaky about it) that I nearly wasn't able to keep my promise and save Azkadellia from the mayor's son. As it was, I had to cut in.

By the end of the evening, I somehow found myself to be a semi-friend of Princess Azkadellia. I'm still uncertain as to whether that had to do with what was said or what was unsaid.

Maybe it was a little of both.


	2. Collaborating, Conspiring, & Consorting

**Chapter 2: Collaborating, Conspiring, and Consorting**

My encounters with Azkadellia predictably increased after my return to Central City – the manner of which was not so expected. I had anticipated having chance meetings with her in hallways as I carried out my duties as military advisor. I never thought I would be advising _her._

Such an arrangement came about like this...

We, the military council, had learned that the dissenters to the Gale Dynasty were far more organized than we had previously thought and that their leader was none other than Azkadellia's Vy-sor. When the Queen was informed, she called for an immediate session of the Defense Council and sent Lord Ambrose for her daughters and husband.

The generals and advisers were gathered when Ahamo arrived apologizing for the delay (he had to find a way to graciously beg off a meeting with the ambassador from the Eastern Guild, and he still managed to 'literally ruffle some feathers'). A few minutes later, the Princesses arrived – covered in grease. DG was wearing freshly stained coveralls and had a smudged face and mussed hair, while Azkadellia was wearing a stained apron over a pale blue skirt and cream-colored blouse, rubber gloves and boots.

To her favorite advisor, the Queen dryly commented, "The meeting wasn't that urgent, my friend. You could have informed them that they had time to change."

Before Ambrose or DG could offer a defense on his behalf, Azkadellia chuckled dryly, "Mother, don't be ridiculous. DG and I realize that these are busy people, and it would be inconsiderate to keep them waiting for something as frivolous as a pretty frock." And as she passed off her apron to a waiting servant, she said to her sister, "But, Deege, I'll have you know, it is much easier to run in five inch heels than it is these rubber galoshes."

I was able later to realize that this banter between the three women was an artfully calculated move on Az's part. In one lighthearted exchange, she took advantage of her sister's impulsiveness (for it was definitely she who led the charge), made it abundantly clear that she viewed this meeting of import, and asserted hers and DG's authority in the room – we all had to wait on them to be ready before we began.

Once they had divested themselves of their soiled outer-wear, Ahamo cleared his throat and queried his wife, "So what's this about, Flower?"

I was watching Azkadellia when the Queen relayed the information she had been given. The last glimmer of her mirth disappeared behind an impassive face, and when she was done bracing herself, she lifted her dark eyes to mine, either sensing I was watching her or, like I was doing with her, wishing to gauge my reaction to this news. In her eyes, I saw what her carefully constructed mask attempted to hide – despair.

"Gentlemen, ladies, I called this meeting to avoid any misunderstanding," the Queen declared with a hint of warning in her tone. "My daughter, Azkadellia, is to know _whatever_ you know on this subject, and that you are to follow her lead."

Dumbfounded silence met this pronouncement. It was broken by General Fytre's deep rumbling voice objecting, "Am I to understand, your Majesty, that you are placing the security of the O.Z. into _her _hands?"

The Queen was about to reprimand him for his disrespect of her daughter, when Azkadellia interrupted with a rasping, "No, Mother. I – I can't." Ignoring everyone else's reactions, she focused on her parent, saying with fervent earnestness, "He was a clever, manipulative bastard to begin with, even before he studied under the Witch. _For_ _Ozma's sake!_ – he was the one who turned Lonot, of all people, against you!"

"How did he do that?" Amby, Chairman on the Committee of Internal Affairs, blurted. It was a fair question. General Lonot had been the son of the Queen's godfather, the best friend of her father, the former king. No one had seen that betrayal coming.

A pained expression passed over the eldest princess' features as she softly answered, "He had a gambling problem…Vy-sor put the pressure on his creditors to call in his debts…To keep his family and dependents from starving during the worst drought in our history, he sold his soul."

"So for the sake of a few hundred," (Lonot was a baron, and thus had quite a few people dependent upon him) "the whole of the O.Z. suffered," someone at the back of the room muttered.

"No," Azkadellia snapped harshly, and then more evenly, she said, "His actions, cowardly though they were, actually saved the Outer Zone. The Witch … was going to unleash Pestilence on the remaining rebellious regions…wiping out all but the most able-bodied of Mother's supporters. Although what fight could keep burning in their hearts, when their children…"

Her voice trailed off as she and the rest of us contemplated the devastation and horror that had been avoided only by the treachery of 'The Most Loyal of Friends.'

"My gods. And this Vy-sor, can he – will he do that as well?" Fytre queried, appalled and aghast as the rest of us at what Azkadellia had implied.

She shook her dark head emphatically. "No, it's strategically speaking irrational at this point. The country's too weak, and this would leave us vulnerable to other nations, which as he doesn't have any magical powers or a strong mage as an ally, he couldn't defend against them like the Witch could have done."

She fixed everyone in the room with a piercing gaze, homing in the gravity of her point, "No, his method is to find our weaknesses, our secrets, like he did Lonot's, and to use them against us, for his purposes." To her mother she added, "He's cunning, and no matter my insider knowledge into the workings of his mind and methods, I'm not enough to match him."

The Queen looked at her steadily and asked, "And who here is?"

Without hesitation, she tersely responded, "No one. Not one person here."

As mother and daughter had their staring match, I could hear the other daughter mutter something along the lines of 'This conversation is as bonkers as the ones with the Mystic Man.'

A sentiment with which I heartily, if silently, concurred._  
_

Finally, Azkadellia's eyes closed and her body sagged in capitulation as she whispered wearily, more to herself than anyone else, "But it was foolish sentiment, not cleverness, that defeated the Witch."

Opening her eyes and straightening her shoulders, she said to her mother, "I then recommend Plan C be put into effect, as soon as possible."

The Queen nodded gravely, and then with a slight nod to Ambrose, she explained to us, as he began passing out folders, "Ladies, gentlemen, you are receiving a detailed outline of our plan to deal with this threat."

"Wait. You were expecting this?" Amby asked, irrationally sounding angry at something that I considered to be good news.

"Yes, we have prepared for the likelihood of Vy-sor's involvement since the discovery of Dr. Nikadok's laboratory," at her casual words, her eldest daughter shifted in her seat and studiously avoided anyone's eyes, in particular, mine. I was impressed with her foresight and dedication to preparation, for I assumed by her squirming that it was she who devised these 'plans.'

When we reached the part about deeper background checks into everyone in leadership positions, including those present, the room erupted into a cacophony of dissent. It was Azkadellia who silenced the rising protests.

"Lord Ronkatonkin, Countess Zingra, these interviews and investigations will be intrusive. It's true. But they're necessary, if we are going to be able to keep two steps ahead of Vy-sor. And believe me, we cannot afford to be anything but." At this, she sent her sister an inexplicably almost apologetic look.

I was later to learn that this was because DG had a dangerous but important role in gaining this two-step lead. She was, with the assistance of my father and Raw, to journey in secret to the Realm of the Unwanted to find Lady Cassandra. This was how desperate we were – we were seeking guidance from a fortune teller, an exalted one with a good track record, but a crystal-ball gazer, nevertheless.

In my father's absence, it was down to me and Ambrose to give Azkadellia the support she needed with the Council. It wasn't blind support, by any means. Often I would ask her to explain her reasoning behind her directions. These requests of mine just weren't laced with hostility like some of the others were.

It was a distinction that she appreciated. So much so that eventually she began to treat me as her liaison with the Defense Council. A role that none of them begrudged me, and I accepted because it was 'for the good of the Cause.' And that is how I found myself to be the former Sorceress' ally.

~*~OZ~*~

The power struggle with Vy-sor and his supporters was much like a long drawn out chess match. Every move was carefully considered before executed. Two annuals after we knew the name of our adversary, we were still fighting the good fight, although this one had more to do with politics than the last. Thus, even though there was less bloodshed, it seemed more difficult.

As frustrating as this shadow war was, those two annuals had far more good memories than bad. DG and my father came back from their secret expedition changed. The easiness of their camaraderie was gone, and in its place was a certain…_awareness_ of each other. Those closest to them (DG's family, Raw, Ambrose, and myself) received great amusement from watching them dance awkwardly around each other.

And I fully blame DG's impulsiveness and lack of princess-like decorum for the next development in my relationship with Azkadellia.

The youngest princess was, as per usual, late to something or other and had charged blindly down a hallway once her sister and Lord Ambrose reminded her of it. I was discussing a security issue with my father (I think it had to do with Lady Omby), when she came barreling around the corner. She collided with my father, who automatically reached out to steady her. Their eyes locked. He held on longer than necessary. She didn't step back, and both of them tinged pink and began stuttering apologies when the spell broke.

From over my father's shoulders, my eyes locked with the amused ones of the eldest princess.

Not long after that, we had a meeting discussing something or other (probably our game plan concerning Lady Omby), and once business was taken care of, one of us brought up the entertaining couple (or not-couple, as it were).

"Mother thinks we should leave them be."

"We?"

"Ambrose, Master Raw, and I, and I suppose you too…" This answer ended as more of a question, as she fished for a new recruit to her matchmaking scheme.

Quirking an eyebrow, I answered in a roundabout way as I inquired incredulously, "The good counselor wants to actually brave the consequences of meddling in the love life of my prone-to-violence father? That's new."

"Raw convinced him that after his initial reaction, he'll be far more pleasant than he currently is – that is, if we succeed…" Her reply trailed off as it dawned on her what my response had left unsaid. "'New'?! You've talked this over with Ambrose _before_?"

Smirking, I simply replied, "In passing."

And so began our matchmaking conspiracy.

As Raw's duties with his people increased and Ambrose was an inconsistent partner in meddling at best (which had more to do with his status as mutual friend of both parties and his general transparency than his lack of dedication), the burden of our endeavor rested largely with us. So for many months, we arranged frequent private moments between the two. For example, if an elevator ride was in all four of our futures, inevitably Azkadellia or I would confess to leaving something behind and the other would volunteer to accompany them back. At social functions, we worked at keeping the youngest princess' suitors at bay, except for the rare one, which we let slip past us to inspire tiny sparks of jealousy. I cut in on quite a few of DG's dances, and Azkadellia helped foil the ploys of the husband-hunting vultures, when they realized what a 'prize' my father was.

Our meetings began to have a dual purpose: how to thwart Vy-sor's schemes and how to advance our own domestic ones. Those entailed coming up with ways to subtly remove the many obstacles that the stubborn fools insisted on erecting. One such obstacle was my father's doubts about their age and station differences. This was most adroitly handled by Azkadellia with her occasional in-passing compliments like "You two make such a great team" or "You complement each other so well; I've only seen two such different people work so well together... Oh? My parents, of course." I nearly choked when she said that last one, because as you watched my father's face, you could see his wheels turning and internalizing the thought that the Great Love-Seed Planter and Doubt-Weed Exterminator Azkadellia had sown there.

I had to help him deal with the ghost of my mother. A touchy subject for the both of us, and then we hardly had time for long in-depth conversations. But when we did manage the time, I attempted to steer the conversation to topics such as soul-mates and hypothetical if-the-shoe-was-on-the-other-foot-what-would-you-d o's. Those conversations varied in their success. Sometimes he opened up and shared his thoughts, going all paternal and advisory. Other times, he would stare off into the silence and turn his wedding ring around and around on his finger. Those times, while uncomfortable, were when I knew the plan was working, as they progressed from quiet grief to DG-and-I-Wyatt-Cain contemplation. When Az and I had our post-Talk powwows, she always made sure there was a glass of brandy on hand. I imagine if DG had been by matchmaking partner, hugs would have been the order of the day. Az' brandy and empathetic silence was more my cup of tea, which explains a lot. But more of that later.

And then there was their fear of losing their friendship. This was actually the hardest to deal with, because there really is no subtle way to broach the subject, and if either of us tried it head on, my father or DG would put up walls faster than a Munchkin could scream "Spy!" It was only when we and our co-conspirators pointed out that by avoiding the pink elephant that was doing calisthenics in a frilly tutu around them (Glitch's analogy), their friendship was deteriorating. No more shared knowing smiles. No teasing nicknames. No midnight snacks or Pooch pranks. Lots of awkward silences. Frequent dodging of the other by way of elaborate alternate paths and paperwork excuses. Really while this was going on, we did our own unnecessary meetings just to avoid being trapped with one of the moping pairs. But at last, they got over themselves and had 'The Talk.'

And the night after DG and my father decided to jump off the proverbial cliff together, we toasted our success with a glass or two of whiskey and half a bottle of champagne…and shared a congratulatory kiss.

It was brief and sweet and full of potential for so much more.

Blushing profusely, I stammered my apologies as I stood up to leave, "S-sorry, Princess. Er, the euphoria of the moment and no doubt all this very pricey rotgut and bubbly seems to have gotten the better of me."

"No doubt," she agreed, half-teasingly, half-something else, as she gracefully rose to show me out.

After that we were never alone together. We weren't as awkward as her sister and my father had been. We were just more formal than we had recently been, although not as formal as those first few encounters. How could we be? We were soon to become family.

Three months after DG's and her tin man's mutual confession of love, my father proposed. He often joked that he did it because he knew if he waited any longer DG would beat him to it. But I think it had more to do with the fact that he realized he had two options concerning the wedding. One, he could have waited for the moment when DG's patience was at its lowest and then proposed an elopement to avoid the hoopla of a royal wedding. Or two, he could get the ball rolling on the wedding planning so that the necessary long engagement would not seem so trying. As he faced the wrath of the Queen and Ahamo who had recently been restored to their daughter, he went with the latter and spared himself some pain.

It was this looming wedding that brought about the most momentous of changes in Azkadellia's and my relationship. Sort of. It was the palace's wedding fever, Vy-sor and his minion's schemes (or just plain scheming nobles), and the Prophecy.

_Double Darkness the Gales escaped._

_But Twilight cometh,_

_If not a Light produced,_

_For the Royal Slipper Tree._

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**AN: **I do heartily apologize for the glossed over romance of DG and Cain. They are my OTP. But this is not their tale. And, as it is so obviously clear, Tin Man and its characters are not mine. They are just terribly fun to play with ; )


	3. Prophecies and Proposals

_Double Darkness the Gales escaped._

_But Twilight cometh,_

_If not a Light produced,_

_For the Royal Slipper Tree._

**Chapter 3: Prophecies and Proposals**

Six months until DG's and my father's wedding, she ambushed me outside my father's office when I had been dropping off a report. She was wringing her hands and nibbling the corner of her mouth, which for someone as composed as Azkadellia is, this was no good omen.

After an exchange of hasty but polite hellos, she led me to her mother's empty office. The Queen and Ambrose were meeting with Milltown's representative to discuss its rebuilding. Once she was done offering me refreshment (I let her pour me a cup of tea knowing that she found this ritual soothing) and we had settled into our seats across from each other, she began, "Did I ever tell you what Lady Cassandra told my sister?"

"No, not all of it. Just that the wives of the 'B' twins were worth watching." I replied, wondering where this was going.

Tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear, she responded slowly, "Yes…and that has proven to be a valuable tip."

It had. Lady Amby, who had opened her home to her sister-in-law during the Sorceress' tyranny, only to be thanked by the woman sleeping with her husband, had been vulnerable to Vy-sor's promises of revenge. We had been feeding Lord Amby misleading information so that she in turn would give Vy-sor the wrong information when she went through her husband's documents. Lady Omby, who believed her affair was unknown to her husband and peers, was also susceptible to Vy-sor, who used his favorite technique of blackmail. The hardest part with our counter-usage of her was keeping the General from confronting her.

"So what words of wisdom of the Great Cassandra has you in such a tizzy, Princess?" I prodded lightly.

Staring straight into my eyes, she recited the Prophecy solemnly. At the end of which, I could only ask, "What the _heck_ does that mean? And why are you telling me now?"

"I'm telling you because I need your help," she replied humbly, and then with a sigh, she queried with genuine curiosity, "What do you think it means?"

I pondered it a moment, finally answering, "'Double Darkness,' the Double Eclipse. 'Escape' could mean defeat of the Sorceress, although that is a weird way of seeing it…Everything else, not a clue."

Azkadellia nodded thoughtfully, "'Twilight,' Mother and I believe means ending."

"Ending of what?"

"The weird phrasing, the references to the Gales, Light, and royalty makes us think…the Gale Dynasty." She admitted reluctantly.

Trying my damnedest to focus on the positive, I asked, "And this can be avoided by producing a light?"

"Yes."

Staring at my now empty tea cup and its bizarre contrast of daintiness to my hands' coarseness, I mused aloud, "What light? Can't be your magic. You produce that often enough…"

"What have you heard of the latest maneuver of the Assembly?" she asked randomly, or so I thought at the time.

Indulging her tangent, I answered, "That they were trying to reinstate lobotomy as a method of punishment. Why?"

She snorted derisively, "Oh no, that will only pass when all three of us Gale women have made the Final Crossing. No, this…Jeb, the Assembly has declared that they will not recognize either Deege or I as Crown Princess until one of us has 'proven capable of securing the royal line' – by producing an heir. In fact, the first to do so will be declared the next queen of the O.Z."

Now comprehending how all this connected, I nodded, saying, "'Royal Slipper Tree' – the Gale family tree, and I suppose 'Light' is the shortened term of 'child of Light'?"

She nodded, but was still nibbling on her lip and looking no way relieved that I had finally caught up with her.

Well, I had at least concerning the Prophecy, but I was still at a loss as to why she was concerned about the Assembly's declaration. It was ridiculous.

"But the Queen has veto power. Why would she let this pass?"

She shrugged. "The same reason the moderates went along with it – to avoid civil war." Setting her tea cup and saucer down on the table between us, she continued, "Quite a few people don't want to see me on the throne, which is no surprise to anyone."

Despite her attempt to sound logical and accepting, her bitterness seeped out as she explained, "Others don't think my sister is capable, or they are just simply taking advantage of DG's Other-side commoner mentality concerning love, marriage, and children and my lack of prospects in any of those areas."

"And if neither of you…reproduce?" I asked still incredulous at the actions of my representatives.

Sighing, she informed me, "At the end of two annuals from now, the right to the throne will pass to the next nobleman or woman in line, which Ambrose is attempting to determine, but you know they already have someone in mind."

I snorted at the truth of that, but focused on the 'grace period' instead. Scoffing, I asked for confirmation, "Two annuals? That's a tight deadline. DG and Father aren't getting married for another half an annual."

"We were lucky to get even that long. The original was one annual. And as they pointed out to my mother, DG and Mr. Cain are already engaged in sexual relations and all it takes is one time – " She stopped at my grimace.

I knew of the nature of my father's relationship with DG, and had, as previously mentioned, encouraged it. I just didn't like to think of them and _it_ in the same context.

"So what do you need me to do? Break the news to my father that he's going to be the next Queen's Consort?"

"No, that's _exactly_ what I don't want." She hastily declared.

I knew that she had nothing against my father. In fact, she had high respect and admiration for him. If she had thought any less of him, he would have gotten nowhere near her baby sister. The fact, however, that she seemed to be implying otherwise only accentuated her distress.

To lighten the mood, I quipped, "Okay, then do you want me to tell him to keep it in his pants for a while?"

Not appreciating my humor, she snapped, "No, if it was as simple as that would I be this – this _agitated_?"

Treating this as a rhetorical question, I waited for her to tell me what she needed of me in her own time and her own way. At the time, I wished she had been more like her sister and just spit whatever it was out. Now, however, I am very grateful that she eased me into it before she dropped her bombshell of a request.

Eventually, after several false starts and a second cup of tea, she launched into her speech:

"Jeb, my sister could be Queen, a great one. Your father could be an excellent Consort. But neither of them _want_ that. Even if they did, I don't want their first two annuals of marriage to be focused on the _task_ of heir producing. It would rob them of the miracle and joy of it all and be an added stress that those two critical annuals don't need. I don't want DG or your father to make any more sacrifices for the good of the O.Z. or this family. I don't want you to either, but I have no one else that I can trust…"

As she looked imploringly at me, I began to connect the dots, and the conclusion I came to necessitated a verbal processing, assisted by finger counting of each key point.

"_So…_ you need a husband…like yesterday… You don't have time for proper courtship, and it needs to be someone you trust…And between Ambrose and me, you chose me?"

I eyed her skeptically, waiting for there to be a flicker of amusement before she smirked and used a Deegism like 'Psych!'

But it was not to be. Instead, she sighed, half in agitation and half in relief, and nodded, "Ambrose is like an uncle, and I'm like a niece to him…An image that is not all that conducive to procreation."

I gave her an obligatory laugh at that last remark, but all I could do beyond that was stare at her blankly. It was too unreal. Not in a million annuals would I have imagined that prim and proper Azkadellia would one day ask me to be her stallion consort. Surreal.

Finally, I stammered, "I'm fl-flattered, Princess, that you don't …_not _see me as 'conducive' to … but I …"

"You don't have to answer now." She reassured swiftly. "Take your time to think about it. Please. And, I'm not asking for forever. Marriages among nobility are often like business contracts, and it's not without precedent that a queen has had an arranged marriage for similar reasons."

She smiled slightly; a wicked twinkle sparkled in her eyes, as she shared, "My great-grandmother was…well, as DG would say, 'She batted for the other team.' Her marital contract had a termination clause in it. Their marriage would end after three annuals or six months after the second child was born. When Great Aunt Hyacinth reached her six month mark, her parents' marriage terminated but her father continued his other Consort duties. You wouldn't have to…"

"If I say no?" I interjected into her babbling.

Looking down at her feet, she softly admitted, "I don't know. I just – I just don't trust anyone else to be the – the father of my children."

Two realizations hit me in that moment that reduced me to speechlessness once again. One, not only was she asking me to be her short-term husband, and therefore, short-term lover, but she was also asking me to be the father of her children, and not just the biological-sperm-donor kind, but the in-it-for-the-long-haul kind. _Fuck__._

The second realization was that not only was this embarrassing and distressing for Azkadellia to make this request of me, it was unfair to her that she had to do so at all.

Here was a woman who had endured fifteen annuals of torment all by herself, trapped in her own body, and then upon her freedom, she had to strive unceasingly to prove herself to people. And because some people were so blinded by hatred, embittered grief, and/or greed and lust for power, she was now deprived the chance of experiencing the fairy tale that her sister got for herself. No roses or sweet whispered words for her. No man on bended knee. Nope, it was her proposing to me, her tentative friend and ally, and awkwardly trying to justify her reasoning for doing so.

I found myself wishing to make her burden easier while at the same time resenting the burden she was putting on my shoulders that I hadn't expected to bear for annuals to come. I was after all only in my early twenties.

"Az, I will consider your offer."

As I retreated from the room, I took some satisfaction from seeing hope kindle in those dark eyes and her usual composure restored at those words. Some. Mostly, I felt guilty because I was trying to figure out a way to say no without feeling like a total selfish jackass.

Needless to say, I got _royally_ drunk that night.


	4. How and Why It Came to Be

**A/N: ****Warning! **Not kiddie-friendly. Some sexual references.

**Disclaimer:** Don't own, and only profit by way of fun and muse exercising.

Enjoy!

* * *

**Chapter 4: How and Why It Came to Be**

_Pros:_

_1. A beautiful woman for my wife_

_2. I gain greater influence and can now more likely make those changes I've always wanted to._

_3. …It's temporary._

_Cons:_

_1. Greater responsibility_

_2. I will have to deal with the guild and noble idiots more often, attend state functions, and wear dress uniforms._

_3. My time with my own kids will be limited._

_4. My children will be royal children (I don't know what exactly the difference is, but I do know there is one.)_

_5. This will probably ruin any chance I have for a normal life with a normal girl, even if it is temporary._

_6. I'll really only be a glorified stud._

_Pros:_

_4. The sexy and alluring Azkadellia (Yes, I have thought of her that way by now. I'm not gay or a eunuch, ya know) will be in my bed._

_5. My accepting will prevent someone less trustworthy from gaining that kind of influence over the O.Z., Azkadellia, and our children._

When I reached that last one, I knew I would be saying yes to Azkadellia. After weeks of thinking about it, talking it over with my father, Ambrose, and even her parents and having multiple conversations with her, the tipping point was that I couldn't imagine Az having any other man's kids. My possessive he-man and my biological procreation mandate kicked into gear, and I suddenly, desperately wanted to see those kids come into existence, to bounce them on my knees, to teach them how to carve, to see the Cain grin play at the corners of their mouths as their laughter shone brightly in their dark brown eyes that resembled their mother's.

Of course, to keep my dignity intact, this is not what I told her when she asked me why. Instead, I told her some malarkey with a cocky grin, "This way a Cain will be on the throne no matter which of you two conceives first. Won't that piss off Vy-sor and them all off?"

And so with that flippant remark, I became Azkadellia's ally against anti-Galites and her fiance.

~*~OZ~*~

It took a few days to get the contract written up and finalized, but by the end of the week we were signing the document and technically married. My father, her family, Ambrose and Raw were there to witness it.

My father's eyes were filled with – not disappointment, not pity, just overwhelming concern. He worried that I was doing this for the same reason Az was, that I wanted to spare him another sacrifice for duty.

It was part of the reason. Wyatt Cain, my father, blames himself for the robbing of my childhood. If he hadn't gotten involved in the Resistance, then the three of us could have continued to live our happy life together.

But he's wrong. It wouldn't have been happy, not while the Sorceress was in power. So yes, my childhood may have been sacrificed for the Cause, but I gained a future of freedom. My father's annuals in the suit bought me that.

The real reason I was doing this was that these two annuals were the least I could do for the future of my children – by Az and possibly some other woman. Such a future would only be possible as long as a Gale woman was on the throne, and my 'sacrifice' would double our chances of guaranteeing that. My thought process being that if I didn't step up, then they would have to waste time to search for a suitable substitute; time we didn't have to waste, because from what I have observed, babies operate under the Principle of Contrary. They are easily made when it's the most inconvenient, and most difficult when most wanted. So here I am.

The Queen looked on with a mixture of hope, acceptance, and regret as she officiated. She wore what Azkadellia called her mother's 'brave face.' As this was the expression she wore when in confrontation with the Sorceress, this wasn't all that encouraging. But then again, considering what I knew what my own mother's expression would have been if she was alive to see this, it was far more positive than I could hope for from a mother.

Ahamo gazed at his daughter with deep sadness, and at me with a glower. Azkadellia told me that when they (she and her mother) had informed him of her intention to marry me and why, he had _vehemently_ protested.

I understood. One day I would want my daughter to marry for love, to have what my father has had twice now and what the Queen and Ahamo seem to have. And I would have serious reservations about a man who would accept such a proposal, especially a man in my position. A former resistance leader voluntarily wedding the former Sorceress who was allegedly possessed by an ancient evil witch? Yeah, once this got out, I was going to suffer some serious censure. Azkadellia's father had every right to wonder what my intentions were. (Well, he knew what these were, but to be more accurate, he had to wonder what I hoped to gain from this that would outweigh the disadvantages.)

To be sure, the only completely optimistic and hopeful person there that day had been Ambrose. He was never very clear as to why, but while I may have found his optimism disconcerting, Azkadellia took strength from it – so I didn't really press the issue.

Strangely enough, it was from the Viewer that I derived the most confidence from. His expression was unreadable, but his body language was not emitting any negative vibes. Thus, while I could not convince myself at the moment that this was a good thing or a non-stupid thing that I was doing, I could at least persuade myself that it wasn't a calamitously foolish commitment I was making.

All through the ritual of the signing, DG, like her father, looked at her sister with sadness, but she also gazed at me that way. I didn't need Azkadellia to tell me how her sister had taken the news of our engagement. She had marched right out and told me exactly what she had thought. She had thought Az and I were the perfect pair – a pair of masochists.

"_I know why she's doing this. She's doing it out of guilt and because she doesn't think that she's worthy of love and lifetime commitment, which – " _she scowled at me,_ " –** she most definitely is**."_

"_And you're doing this because you're a Cain. In the dictionary of idioms, right next the phrase 'glutton for punishment' is yours and your father's picture…"_

And so the tirade went…_ "Neither of you has to do this. I'm perfectly capable and willing to step up to the plate." _Arms now waving about in agitation, she continued her rant more to herself than to me,_ "So becoming preggers would move way up on my to-do list, but it's no big deal. I __**want **__to have your father's babies – "_

"_Prin- DG," _I corrected myself upon seeing her scowl deepen at my use of her title._ "Your sister __**wants**__ to be queen one day. I think, she wants to have the future she would have had if not for the Witch. And no ridiculous Assembly ruling is going to deprive her of that."_

The truth of what I said had sunken in and stopped her short. Momentarily that is. Eyeing me skeptically, she asked, _"And you?"_

I flashed her a grin, _"Guilty as charged."_

After the signing, Azkadellia's expression of resolve and DG's of sadness disappeared and changed into identical looks of _'Oh shit. It actually happened.'_

But then DG threw herself at her sister, congratulating her as she practically squeezed the life out of her in a giant hug. Azkadellia threw me a bemused expression, and once again, I came to her rescue, making some inane remark about how I wanted my wife alive and breathing as I jokingly tried to pry the youngest princess off her sister.

That's how I remember that day, by everyone else's reactions. I think, I focused on theirs so that I wouldn't hear my internal monologue, which was telling me to run for my life, for the sake of the freedom of my young bachelor days, the time when I was supposed to be young and carefree and footloose… Ha, what a joke. For when had it ever been that?

For the next few weeks, it was business as usual. I got up in the mornings in my own palace room, in the East Wing, which was not reserved for royal family quarters. I ate a quick breakfast, went to my office, read reports, went to meetings, and so forth. Azkadellia did the same. The only difference was that we now ate dinner together, when there wasn't a state dinner scheduled.

All of this changed, of course, when she – well, when it was time.

~*~OZ~*~

We had decided to begin trying as soon as possible; hence, the private signing ceremony. (The official public one would be done a few months after DG's and my father's wedding in order not to 'steal her thunder' as the youngest princess facetiously put it.)

When Raw – whom we had monitor her rather than the royal physician to maintain our marriage's privacy – had informed Azkadellia that she was nearing her optimum point in her cycle, we left for Finaqua. Azkadellia was supposedly taking a much needed vacation, and I was accompanying her at my father's request so that he could stay and help his bride with their wedding. It still surprises me to this day that anybody fell for that load of hogwash.

Understatement of the annual: the journey out there was one of the most awkward of my life.

We talked of everything but what we should have. DG, the upcoming 'circus' as the bride and groom fondly referred to their own wedding, Lord Ambrose's latest invention idea, our horror stories of tutors and schoolmarms, our failure to find Nikadok's new lab or the man himself are a few of our small talk topics.

After the first dinner at Finaqua however, Azkadellia finally broached the subject by asking, if I wanted to join her in her room or for her to join me in mine. I elected hers. I privately suspected that her bed was bigger than mine.

When I arrived at the room, she was already dressed in a modest cream silk pajama set and sitting in the middle of the bed with her knees drawn up, hugging them to her chest. I myself was wearing my favorite navy flannel bottoms and a plain white tee. As soon as I approached the bed, she laid back and looked at me with trepidation underneath her heavy-lidded eyes.

Seeing her fear of this situation for the first time, somehow gave me the courage that I needed 'to man up' as it were. I strode casually to the bed and plopped down, making myself comfortable and leaning against the headboard. Giving her upper thigh a nudge of a kick, I asked gently, "So, uh, wife of mine, I gotta ask – have you done this before?"

At first, I didn't think she would reply, but then she whispered, her eyes staring unblinkingly at the ceiling, "I don't – not that I can remember."

When I didn't say anything in response, she turned her head to look at me, her dark eyes now wide with confusion. "Sometimes, it became too much and I would…black out, I guess, like when I – _she_ killed my sister or took Ambrose's brain. At other times, like when she sucked out the Mystic Man's soul, I remember … in excruciating detail. But the times when I retreated into oblivion, she always taunted me with her memories of it, so you'd think she would have done the same for something like _that._"

Nodding my understanding, I mused aloud, "So you've never done this before…"

At her wary expression, as if she was unsure of whether I thought this a good thing or bad, I rushed to reassure, "Oh no, Princess! Don't get me wrong. I'm glad for your sake that she didn't make you – " I broke off to avoid naming the crime, as if by doing so I could make the topic less unpleasant. Instead, I hastened to explain myself, "Well, anyways, I just kind of assumed she had with the way she dressed and all." Diplomat, I am not.

Her lips curled in distaste as she said, "She enjoyed rubbing her power over her men and subjects in their faces; whether it was her position as dictator, magical prowess, or …physical appearance."

I nodded once again, but soon saw that it was a wasted gesture, as she was no longer looking at me. Her gaze had returned to being focused yet unseeing on the ceiling, and she was swallowing nervously. As I watched her, I had the sudden urge to kiss her slender ivory throat. I nearly did. But then I stopped myself. And then I was wondering why I had stopped. We had to start somewhere, somehow.

Praying to whatever deities that would care that this would not be a total disaster, I shifted positions until I was lying right alongside her, propped up on one arm. She was so absorbed in her inner-musings that she didn't notice my actions, so I extended my left hand and waggled my fingers across her rib cage.

In hindsight, that wasn't a very smart move as she was magically gifted and trained to defend herself by Ambrose, but I was fortunate in that all she did was jump and shy away from me as she shot me a baleful look.

"Ticklish much, Princess?" I taunted.

"In a word? Yes," she snorted, before adding, "_Prince Consort._"

Wrinkling my nose in distaste at the title, I teased with an exaggerated air of nonchalance, saying, "That is quite fantastic, because you see – _I_ am not ticklish at all."

Rising to the bait, she cocked one elegant eyebrow, inquiring in mock challenge, "You aren't, are you?"

And then the tickling war commenced.

At one point, she gained the upper hand and was on top of me, but I soon reclaimed the advantage and had her pinned beneath me. She never did beg for mercy. That could have been because she was out of breath, but it also could have been due to the fact that I seized the moment of her relaxed and unsuspecting state and leaned down to kiss her.

It was a gentle tentative kiss, even shorter in duration than the one we had shared months ago. When I drew back to judge her reaction, she gave a tiny nod of encouragement, so the second (third) kiss, I deepened and explored.

Azkadellia tastes sweet and tart. She smells spicy, heavenly. Her lips and skin are soft as peaches. She flushes pink as a budding rose, and she's as responsive as she is ticklish.

My hands, which had been resting lightly on her rib cage, now slid to her back, drawing her to me, pressing her glorious curves to my chest. Her pliant body eagerly molded to my unyielding one as I gained entrance to her mouth teasingly swirling my tongue around. When I began to withdraw, she mewled in protest and fisted her slender fingers into my long locks, preventing me from escaping her own exploration. She was a quick learner, my new wife.

With a groan of unmitigated pleasure, I rolled us so that I was on my back and Az was draped across me.

We lay like that for quite some time. My hands ran up and down her sides. Hers threaded through my hair. Our tongues tangled and pleasured. Eventually, I did make my way to her ivory throat, peppering it, nibbling it, nuzzling it. My hands brushed and then kneaded her breasts, causing her to gasp in pleasure and to arch into my touch.

When her hands left my hair to fumble at my pants' drawstring, I chuckled lowly, "Not yet, Az. Just because we _have _to do this, doesn't mean we can't damn well enjoy it."

She nibbled uncertainly at her swollen lower lip, and then went all royal-like, declaring imperially, "Fine. But if I'm going to 'damn well enjoy it', your shirt must come off this instant, Captain Cain."

"As you wish, Princess."

We took our time, learning each other. It was awkward, and we laughed nervously and/or apologetically through most of it. But if judging by her moans and my groans of ecstasy, enjoyment was most definitely had by all.

In the morning, she was still shy and hesitant around me, but the tension was broken.

We spent our days in activities of leisure: boating, horseback riding, maze-wandering (It shuffled anew at her request so that we would be on equal footing), shooting (Azkadellia is quite a good shot for someone who rarely touches a gun), and, of course, reading. Our nights, we spent mixing pleasure with business.

At the end of our idyllic week, I brought up reality.

"So, when we return to the City and the public eye, how are we going to play this out?"

Setting her book down, she looked at me bewildered, "'Play it out?'"

Toeing off my boots after doing a perimeter check, I explained, "Yeah, you know, are we going to go back to how we were – separate bedrooms, your role of princess to my military advisor and subject? Or are we going to be more like now but with less play time and more stress and spying courtier eyes?"

"Oh," she breathed, as she considered my query. Sending a cleaner-Light ball towards my boots with a flick of her forefinger to de-mud them, she finally answered, "I think, separate beds at least until the public ceremony, except for when…" She blushed as she tried to find a delicate euphemism for a less than delicate topic and failed.

"Yes, obviously not when we're…" I smirked, as I began to list off possible terms that she could have used, "Baby-making? Breeding? Copulating? Squelch – "

With another flick of her finger, she sealed my mouth shut, saying dryly, "Yes, _that_."

It was a testament to how far we'd come that I was not having a fit of panic or rage at her casual use of her magic against me, to _silence_ me. Why didn't I have such a reaction? Well, I was far more preoccupied with the fact that _she _felt comfortable doing so around me. Except for when she had been de-trapping Nikadok's lab, she had never so blatantly used her magic around me, much less on me. My cynical side said it had more to do with her having her first real break in who knows how long rather than anything to do with our new level of intimacy, but I kind of hoped that it was at least a little of both.

Obviously, unaware of my inner-musings, she continued, after unsealing my mouth, to answer my previous question, "And no, I don't want us to be princess-subject, even if all the gossipmongers and spies are watching my – our every move. I want us to be equals, Jeb."

As this was our last night free from responsibility, I didn't want to spoil it by asking her how she saw this equality playing out in day-to-day life, so I raised my eyebrows questioningly and quipped, "Equals, huh? In that case, I respectfully demand that when we do share a bed that I get _my_ half of the covers."

Her mouth dropped open at my indirect accusation that she was a blanket-hog, but then she snapped it shut before retorting in mock-seriousness, "Fine, but I respectfully request that you wear socks to bed. You have cold feet…Literally, not figuratively."

"Much obliged at the correction," I remarked haughtily, and then with a waggle of my eyebrows, I smirked, "It would be a sad day that after all we've done these past few nights, you thought I had metaphorically cold feet."

Tingeing a slight pink, she murmured, "You're welcome."

And that is how I became not only Azkadellia's lover and spouse, but her partner and acknowledged equal as well.


	5. Fights and Flowers

**Chapter 5: Fights and Flowers**

Indeed, when we returned to the City, it was business as usual. We both returned to our separate, nearly independent lives. Separate bedrooms, separate apartments, separate wings of the palace. I, to my intelligence reports in a stuffy office and to debriefings and meetings, all filled with cigar smoke. She, to her opulent office, with its airy atmosphere and balcony overlooking the gardens, her office where she perused intel reports, children's hospital plans, social engagement invitations and from where she would leave for said engagements with her sister and the ever present advisor, Ambrose.

Occasionally, we attended the same meetings or social engagements, most often the former, but we did have a private dinner together at least twice a week.

It's not how one pictures one's first six months of married life. But from what I have observed of the Queen and her Consort, it is what one expects of a royal couple's very busy day-to-day existence – minus the separate wings and apartments, etc.

And then, of course, there were the monthly conjugal duties to perform. Duties that while were performed with excellence by both parties were not – er, _fruitful_.

I know that this all sounds rather bitter and resentful. Let me just say, however, that I detested the limbo-ness of it all. I am a man of action. And I took action. Yet, although I was married – I wasn't.

I was never happier – well, no, I've been happier – never more _relieved _than when 'Circus Day' arrived. It meant that in a month, Azkadellia and I would be able to come out of the closet – no, that's the wrong metaphor, I mean…to go public. The only thing that could have made me happier/relieved is if Raw gave me a nod instead of a sympathetic headshake after one of his follow-up visits with Azkadellia.

Az was becoming more discouraged and introspective (and that's saying a lot) with each verdict that the stork had passed us by yet again. I think, she had hoped the Assembly was right and that it would only take a few tries and then – whoopsy-daisy! And I would soon be 'free' of her and her 'taint.' A sentiment, which logically speaking, is erroneous. The child would connect us, and those who had not forgiven her for being possessed will still hold me in contempt for my part in putting her on the throne.

Anyways, Circus Day… The wedding went off without a hitch. The only 'gaffe' DG made was to grab my father by his tux lapels and plant one on him before the official had finished announcing the completion of their legal bonding.

And at the reception, unlike the Queen's birthday party, my father barely let anyone else but himself dance with his bride. He relinquished her to Ahamo for the traditional father-daughter number, but it wasn't until five songs later that Raw braved the risk of getting a bullet between his eyes and asked for the next one. DG took pity on the rest of us that she genuinely wanted to dance with and asked us herself, but only after sending her new hubby for refreshments first.

When Raw had gone up and made his request, I seized the opportunity to approach my clandestine wife and extended my hand with a self-satisfied smirk, gloating, "I do believe you owe me ten platinums, Princess."

Rolling her eyes at my smug expression, she retorted, "I hope you don't owe anyone right this moment on another one of your ridiculous wagers, Captain Cain, because I'll have you know that I do not carry loose change on my royal personage."

Lowering my hand, I teased, "If it was so ridiculous, why in the world did you enter into it with me?"

She lifted one shoulder delicately in a shrug, replying sheepishly, "I thought it was a for-sure thing. Ambrose never passes up an opportunity to goad Cain." Turning to me, she lifted an inquisitive and suspicious eyebrow, "How did _you_ know it was going to be Raw and not him who would ask first?"

Shrugging, I answered, "According to DG, it was Raw who leapt off the cliff and into the river first."

Glancing over at the glowering and currently DG-less Wyatt Cain, Az snorted as she dryly remarked, "Yes, I see why you would consider those to be analogous situations."

At that moment, General Fytre's sister and her now eligible for marriage daughter (A few annuals ago, she was too young to fight and now she was old enough to marry? The logic of the nobles is beyond me) were headed my way.

Bending down, I whispered into Az's ear, "Save me the next dance, will you, Azkadellia?" More loudly, I said, "I beg pardon, Princess, but I have to go make sure Jillya Jem doesn't spike the kiddie punch bowl."

And then I made a hasty retreat.

DG's maid didn't spike the wrong punch bowl. I managed to avoid the match-making mamas and their hopeful daughters and only dance with those I wished: Jillya, Rory Robbins (a Royal Guardswoman and former gun-runner for the resistance), Kantyr Griffin (my father's assistant and DG's co-conspirator for all plans undesired-by-but-good-for Wyatt Cain), the bride, and Azkadellia (three times). It was a great party…

…Up until that third dance.

Holding Azkadellia at the proper distance between a princess and her military advisor, I observed softly, "Wife of mine, have I told you how lovely you look today?"

She did. The dress DG had picked out for her 'maid of honor' was perfect. It was a lightweight, soft, and summery dress, a cornflower blue with a modest heart-like neckline. It flowed like liquid around her gorgeous body as she twirled around the dance floor, or even when she simply walked from guest to guest, as she mingled.

She, however, was not to be charmed by flattery. Her already stiffly held body became even more tense and her public smile, thin and painful looking, as she ground out between clenched teeth and barely moving lips, "_Captain Cain_, you do realize that this is our _third _dance and that such favored attention towards me _will _give people ideas about us?"

My own smile froze as I coolly replied, "But Your Highness, you do realize that these 'people' will eventually know about us? That is the plan, correct?"

She dipped her head in reluctant acknowledgment, but clearly still unhappy with me for not playing my former role as the eligible and most sought after bachelor in the room. (A status that I had to 'thank' the Queen and DG for as they made me a celebrity for my small part at the Tower, rewarding me with the confiscated and moderately wealthy lands of a former Sorceress supporter.)

Baffled by her reaction, I tried to lighten her mood by commenting cheekily, "Besides, Princess, I would think that you would want me to be avoiding the husband-hunters now that you have taken me off the market, however unofficially."

Her dark eyes flashed, and she looked as if she was going to snap at me, but then she clamped her mouth shut as she stared over my shoulder thoughtfully. I twirled her out and then back as the steps of the dance required, and when she returned to our previous position, she said diplomatically, "I appreciate the thought, but I would be more … grateful, if you would use someone else in your game of Dodge-the-Debutantes."

Now it was my turn to become incensed. Use? Use?! I was not _using_ her. In fact, if there was any 'using' being done, it was her. And what the heck? This – this woman begs me one day with her sorrowful, soulful eyes to give up my bachelor days, which I quite enjoyed, aside from the Fytre nieces of the O.Z. But is now _demanding_ that I act the bachelor I no longer am _because of her_.

And for what exactly? Secrecy? It no longer was that important now that her sister had just tied the knot. Letting the rumor mill put out the idea that we were a couple, or at least a potential couple, might make it less of a shock and more digestible to the people when we announce that we're already married. But no, that would be too sensible.

The dance ended. I bowed stiffly, saying curtly, "As you wish, Your Highness." And then as an afterthought, I added pointedly, "I guess, I'll see you when my _services_ are more appreciated."

And then I walked off and left her on the dance floor to find some fresh air to cool down.

Eventually, I did. Just not until five days later.

~*~OZ~*~

The wedding breakfast the next morning was a bit awkward, but the two of us were able to pass off our irritation with each other as general early morning surliness after a long night of partying. Perhaps, even Raw was fooled.

He was not fooled when I asked Ambrose and him to make my apologies for canceling dinner with Az two nights later. The daughter of one of my old war buddies was in town that week, and he had asked that I check in on her. I was just keeping my promise to him, but from the frown that the Seemingly-All-Knowing Viewer sent my way indicated that he had somehow sensed that this engagement could have been done some other night and I was acting out of spite at the time.

If I asked him about it, he'd have probably told me that he only sensed the negative emotions I was harboring towards Az, not that those emotions were the reason behind my avoidance of her or that I was intentionally avoiding her. But the look was enough to send my guilty conscience into overdrive and raise my defensive hackles, and so the poor girl who was my companion that night for dinner and a show got mixed signals. I was broody (or 'piss-ant moody' as DG would say) in one moment, and then in the next I was overly charming to make up for it. Thank Ozma the show was excellent, so she could honestly tell her father she had a good time that night. (The man was our demolitions expert, and a major key to a long and healthy life, I have learned, is not to piss off the bomb-maker.)

Anyways, by the fifth night of our cold war, I was feeling sheepish for acting so childish, so I brought a bouquet of yellow flowers with red tips and orange blossoms as well as a box of Juan Dough's chocolate eclairs (her favorite) as an apology.

I should have known that a woman as complicated as Azkadellia would not be mollified by flowers and chocolate.

With barely a glance at my offerings, she rose without a word from the stool by the harp and coolly sat down at the dinner table. When I followed suit, after setting the gifts on a side table, she snapped her napkin into her lap and then fired her first volley.

"I don't appreciate being stood up, Captain Cain."

"Stood up? Did Ambrose not tell you – ?" I attempted to defend myself.

She cut me off, her tone curt and her body stiff with suppressed outrage, "Yes, he did. And by using him and Raw as your messenger boys, instead of telling me like a man, you let other people know that there is a rift between us." She paused and picked up her knife and fork to begin cutting into her kalidah steak. Her fiery eyes piercing me with a fierce stare as she asserted tersely, "That must never happen again. We cannot be seen as having weakness, if we are to survive life at court."

I didn't know if 'we' referred to her and me or if she was using it in the royal sense, but I figured she wouldn't welcome a request for clarification, so instead I attempted to empathize and ignored the slur about my manhood. Nodding, I murmured, "I can see how that could have been humiliating – "

It was a no go. She waved her hand imperiously in a chopping motion (the one with the knife), dismissing my apologies again. "Whatever. Just make sure it doesn't happen again, Jeb."

Before I could sigh with relief that she was no longer calling me by my formal title, she fired her next volley, "And for future reference, when we're having a fight, I'd appreciate it if you wouldn't avoid me." Her voice softened somewhat as she gazed over my shoulder at nothing in particular, "I may not be like DG in a lot of things, but I do prefer to handle my conflicts head-on."

Appreciating the sentiment, I nodded when her eyes briefly flashed back towards me before descending to her plate again. When she didn't say anything more, I asked quietly, "Now that you have gotten all that off your chest, can I say my piece now?"

Her lips twitched slightly in wry amusement, as she graciously nodded her permission. And so began the dance of reconciliation.

Sighing, I ran my fingers through my hair as I searched for words, finally settling on, "I think, I avoided you because I was afraid…" I stopped when I saw a flash of hurt flicker across her face. It took me a few seconds to figure out why, and then my Cain heart nearly broke yet again for her at my realization.

"You think, I mean that I was afraid of you, the former Sorceress, don't you?" I asked softly.

She shrugged one of her shoulders delicately, as she replied, "It's not so far-fetched. For annuals, people steered clear of me as long as they could, when they knew I was displeased with them. And for good reason. Usually, the best way for her to overcome feelings of irritation was to suck out their souls…"

Before she could get too far lost in those horrific memories, I asserted, reassuringly, "Well, Princess, I hate to bruise your ego, but I was more afraid of what _I _would say in my anger. I didn't want to hurt you. We Cain men can be cruel bastards in our fury. But…if you think your skin is thick enough, in the future we'll battle it out like… _like men_."

My confession threw her for a loop for several moments, her mouth opening and closing multiple times as she struggled for an adequate response. But then she gave a solemn nod of acceptance of our pact, before reaching for her wine glass.

I thought that was the end of the matter; however, after taking a delicate sip, her mouth quirked up in an impish smile, as she taunted, "I think my skin may be thicker than yours, Jeb dear, if that little comment about your manhood still rankles you so…"

I made an exaggerated scoffing sound that caused her to laugh throatily in amusement, before cutting into my own steak.

Over the course of that meal, we discussed, like reasonable adults, the original issue that started our little tiff. She admitted that she had been feeling a bit tetchy because of jealousy of DG's true-love marital happiness and at everyone's hovering over her pregnant-less state; therefore, our repeated dancing made me a target for the venting of her irritation. I admitted similar feelings of jealousy and frustration. Eventually, we agreed that we didn't have to be so circumspect that every word and action had to be censured, but nor could I act all he-man Cain around her like my father did DG.

At the end of the meal and discussion, we moved over to the couch by the fire. Az offered me an éclair from her box, as she nodded to the bouquet, asking, "Do you know the significance of the flowers in that arrangement?"

I shook my head sheepishly, acknowledging my ignorance and hoping I hadn't unwittingly made a major faux pas.

She smiled, "I thought not. Those are marigolds. In the flower language, they mean 'cruelty, grief, and/or jealousy'."

At my wince, she laughed, "That's just the flower language, which I suspect florists created to increase their sales."

Eyeing her warily, I asked, "If you don't have confidence in the language, why bring it up?"

Offering me another éclair, she answered, "Because of the irony, and because the history of the beliefs and uses for this colorful blossom also seem ironically apropos to our situation."

At my raised eyebrows, she continued, "Witches have reportedly used the blossoms to stop people from gossiping or speaking unkindly of others, and many have believed them to encourage more cheerful conversations, and…" She ducked her head as she whispered, so softly that it took me moment to distinguish what she said, "A marigold brought inside was thought to bring about peace between an unhappy and discordant husband and wife..."

That time I gave into my impulsive urge and kissed her exposed slender, ivory throat, chuckling huskily, "Ironically apropos, indeed."

Our shared relief at clearing of the air between us became a mutual desire to express ourselves with physical displays of affection, at a time when there was no biological schedule or fate-of-the-nation pressure to tarnish the moment. The experience was slow and sweet, sensual and satisfying. And oh Ozma, Lurline, and all other former queens, fairy or otherwise, I had been sorely tempted to think of ways to pick fights with Az, if the reward for reconciliation was even halfway as phenomenal as that night.

Our lovemaking was so consuming that it put out all other thoughts from my head. It wasn't until many months later that I thought to ask someone what the significance of orange blossoms was. Ambrose's answer stopped me in my tracks and made me feel as if I was the one who had only half-a-brain.

"Oh for such a little blossom, it means so much! Romantically too. More so than the popular red rose. It means 'innocence, eternal love, and marriage and fruitfulness'. I think that's why Az – Captain Cain? Jeb? … Jeb, are you alright?"

* * *

**A/N: **Hee, hee. Questions? Comments? Critiques? Concerns? Love them all.

Once again, I don't own Tin Man. SyFy does. I just play here ; )


	6. Politics, Diplomacy, and Domestics

**Chapter 6: Politics, Diplomacy, and Domestics**

The public announcement of our marriage took place a month after The Circus. The reactions to it went pretty much as predicted. Those who supported the Gales, even Azkadellia, were relieved that steps were being taken to secure the throne, despite the latest machination of certain parties in the Assembly. Those very same parties deplored the secretive nature of our union but were unsuccessful in challenging its legality. As vexing as that was, nothing was more trying than those who still hated Azkadellia the Sorceress. Many saw me, the Resistance Hero, as a traitor of the O.Z. peoples.

I lost a few friends after that, people who had bled, fought, and starved with me in the Dark Annuals. I was able to shield Az from their threats and barbs and hide the toll it took on me, taking my frustration out on my few subordinates who foolishly made the mistake of being less than flattering in their remarks concerning my relationship with the princess. At least, I was able to until I moved into her apartments, and we began opening our morning mail together.

An old gunny sergeant, who had lost a wife and daughter to the Sorceress' death squads and who had been one of my mentors, sent a scathing letter that denounced me, denigrated my father, and attempted to shame me by using the memory of my mother. At that point, I crushed the letter in blind fury, causing Az to set down her morning paper.

Her soft, concerned voice penetrated my righteous rage, and I tossed the balled up letter into the nearby fire place, momentarily forgetting that my wife was a highly adept Gale mage. When I didn't explain the cause of my distress, she simply summoned the epistle and perused its scorched contents for herself.

As she read it, I could see her chest begin to heave in distress and/or wrathful indignation. So I began my valiant effort to soothe her, starting with, "Az, I'm so sorry. He's an old, lonely, grieving man. His anger is all he has. But I never wanted you to see this…Usually, I can predict who will send these kinds of letters, and I have their correspondence sent to my office – "

Her dark brown eyes snapped up to me, and she bit out, "There's been _more_ like this?"

"_Yeeesss_," I dragged out, not sure if she was mad at the senders or the recipient.

"And. You. Didn't. Tell. Me?" was her slowly enunciated hiss.

Definitely, the recipient then.

Before I could begin to process why that was, she began to enlighten me.

"Jebediah Cain! You promised that you would quit your he-man, protective smothering habits with me. I am not a fragile, ivory-tower princess of children's fairy tales! I am Azkadellia Gale, future Queen of the Outer Zone – if the Fates allow. I am also your wife. Remember, the one who picked you to be her equal, her partner?"

I managed to get a nod in.

"So, why is it, that you are keeping things like this " – finger jab at the letter – "from me? Hmmm?"

She had several very valid points. However, I was not in the most rational frame of mind – upsetting letter and only half a cup of coffee, ya know and all.

So I snapped, "Well, for someone who wants us to be equals and partners, you sure do a damn good job of treating me as one! Shouting down and scolding me like I'm some incompetent Longcoat!"

At that last remark, Az flinched and deflated, causing me to halt my attack and beat back a hasty but dignified retreat, quietly imploring, "I just wanted to save you some grief, Az."

She sighed and reached for my hand across the table, her dark eyes wide with understanding, as she too implored, "I know, but I've asked so much of you…taken so much, sharing this burden is one of the few things that I can do to repay you."

In that moment, in her acknowledgment of our inequality, I finally felt that we were equals. Sounds like a paradox, I know. But who said emotions were rational, anyways?

So I nodded and squeezed her hand before reaching for my next letter (a request for more blankets and socks for the soldiers at the northern outpost), and Az returned to her paper.

And that was how the Haters strengthened our partnership. No longer were her burdens just my burdens, but my burdens were hers as well.

~*~OZ~*~

The public matrimonial ceremony was a whole lot of pomp and circumstance without all the fanfare of DG's and my father's Circus. In fact, there was a whole lot more fuss and muss over the marriage contract (the details of which Assembly members could not change) than the details of the ceremony (of which they had some power over).

The public's reaction was more understandable. The media would not see it worth their while to create a ballyhoo over a business transaction. And our union was certainly that. There was a decided lack of excitement and drama that was so juicily available in the Great Romance between the young princess and her tin man, Heroes of the Eclipse. Really, we got more coverage in the Haters' pamphlets, which declared that I, the former Hero-now Turncoat, had sold my respectability (and soul) for political power and influence.

But we got through it. Despite her form-fitting if stately dress, the bored sighs and angry glowers of Assembly witnesses, and the bomb threat, we persevered and went on to more pressing matters.

It was then more or less three annuals since the Witch's defeat. We obviously still had enemies out there, but the money and resources were more readily available to begin some serious restoration projects. The focus of these projects would be the Erased Towns. The migraine-inducing question of the hour was which towns would be targeted first. Everyone on the Reconstruction Committee thought that their town was the most deserving.

Oh yeah, and did I mention that the Queen passed off this pet project onto her daughters as good diplomacy training? No? Well, she did, and Az decided to follow her fine example and roped me into it as well, for 'consort training.' Our relationship at that point could best be defined as a 'partnership in misery.'

After a particularly grueling session, the princesses called for a recess, and the three of us retired to mine and Az's sitting room. Once there, DG flopped into a chair with a longsuffering sigh, "It's too bad we can't just fix it all with magic like we did the Papay Fields. A concentrated wish, a focused thought, and Poof! It's there, and I could be – "

"Wherever Dad is, that is oh so conveniently not in there?" I half-griped, half-teased, still somewhat sore that he was able to get out of it.

DG just grinned.

Az, however, was lost in thought and only absentmindedly responded to her sister's first remark, murmuring, "We can't, because magic cannot undo damage that which was humanly caused…without draining us to the point of being the walking dead…But it does seem as if everyone expects us to…"

Getting down to business and ignoring DG's bizarre amusement at the potential of being "a zombie witch", I threw in my two-coppers, "Well, I have to admit, Az, you were right that I don't know much about diplomacy. I've always been a soldier. The leaders give out orders and the subordinates obey." Azkadellia looked as if she was about to make some sort of objection, but I forestalled her with a heavily emphasized "_But…_"

"Yes?" she asked politely and a little apologetically.

"But, in cases where leadership was not as defined or the people were not soldiers but family members of Resistors, supplies or jobs were divided up by the most deserving or the most equal way, whichever that was."

"That's the bone of contention, isn't? What _is_ the most equal way? Who _is_ the most deserving?" DG pointed out. "Everyone's suffered, and everyone has a voice – which they all use quite loudly."

At her words, a gleeful grin began to spread slowly across Az's face as she declared thoughtfully, "Deege, I think you might be onto something."

Her sister cast her and then me a quizzical '_I am?_' expression, that Az replied to with a soft, amused chuckle, "Yes, you are. 'Everyone has a voice' indeed. And where does everyone have a voice at?"

"The Assembly," we both automatically answered, with DG adding inexplicably, "No taxation without representation."

"Precisely. So each supplicant group will receive funds for the rebuilding of the town _they_ choose," was her cleverly put forth solution.

It was actually an idea that had been brought up earlier, but quickly tossed out by some because they believed their need was greater than, say, the Milltown Tik-Toks. But with that line of reasoning we had hope that we could succeed with this method of allocation.

We did. The Tik-Toks got their Milltown; the Munchkins, their Great Guild Village; the Viewers, their Sacred Burrow; and the human faction got their college town of Shiz. And it was all due to Azkadellia.

The more I worked with her in situations like these the more she amazed me. Both princesses were natural leaders. But my wife was the quieter one, the subtler one. She was much like her mother in that way. However, she was more ready to ask for other people's opinions and listen to them. Her way was not the only way. She made everyone a part of her team: her parents, Ambrose, Raw, DG and my dad, and me.

I mentioned this once to DG, and she laughed merrily in agreement and pride, before fixing me with a thoughtful look and suggesting, "And I guess, that makes you her co-captain, don't you think?"

~*~OZ~*~

It wasn't all smooth sailing once we reached that egalitarian understanding. How could it have been? Two previously independent people living and working that closely together and now with hardly any breaks from each other are bound to annoy the heck out of one another and struggle to let go of the little things. Az and I were no different.

For one, our preferred sleep schedules were the exact opposite. She was a night owl, and I was an early bird. On the nights that I didn't sleep (among other things) in her bed, my early rising didn't bother her as my room of our suite was across our shared spacious sitting room.

One frequent point of tension and/or contention occurred at breakfast (if she forced herself out of bed to join me before I went to the office). I liked to discuss the upcoming day, and she liked to nurse her cup of coffee and read her paper in peace.

If I attempted a conversation, it went something a lot like this:

"_So your dad invited me to sit in on his negotiations between the Munchkins and other members of the Eastern Guild this afternoon."_

The newspaper's page is turned.

"_Should be interesting, aside from downright frustrating that is."_

Coffee mug is picked up and delicately sipped behind the still raised paper.

"_It's amazing how such small little packages can be so infuriating."_

Paper is lowered slightly, and Az peers over the edge, with eyebrows raised in quizzical irritation, trying to gauge if that last remark was a not so subtle barb aimed at her. (Confession: it partly might have been. I, just like the next guy, don't like to be ignored. I also might have passive-aggressively wished to punish her for keeping me up so late with her desire to chit-chat and then all the racket she made as she worked on some research project or another – a thing she frequently did.)

At my innocent smile, she returns to her reading.

Silence reigns, until broken by my next announcement, _"Oh, I forgot to tell you. Glit- Ambrose wants to know if we intend on joining him and – "_

Death glare.

At this point, I typically wise up and opt for semi-companionable silence. In the first few weeks of our marriage, I made the mistake of stubbornly charging on ahead. The result? A snarling verbal massacre by the end of which, she makes me wish I had been born a mute. Yeah, if a Hater/Doubter ever wished to prove to the O.Z. that Azkadellia was still the Sorceress, all they would need is a recording of a provoked Az pre-coffee. It's not a pretty sight.

Another irksome difference is that I, the son of a tin man, like order – everything has its proper place, while she is a princess – servants are there to put things in their proper place. Books and non-classified scrolls are scattered about our sitting room – on the coffee table, on the side tables, on the window bench seat, on the floor by the fireplace, etc. The books are left open face down because, for some reason, a placeholder could not be found. And the shoes! Kicked off, not when she first enters the room and neatly put to the side of the door, but whenever the urge takes her and only haphazardly, halfway tucked under the most convenient piece of furniture.

If, for the sake of my sanity, I attempt to organize her stuff, she complains: _"Jeb! Did you have neat-freak fit again and move my stuff? You know I can't ever find where you put things and now I've wasted half an hour looking for..."_

My reply that _"It's logically here, where it belongs" _never goes over well, nor _"You waste time looking for it anyways...So wouldn't it be better if at least **one** of us knows where it is?"_.

And if I try to avoid above argument by simply taking a mental note as to where she's left things, it generally goes like...

_"Az, what are you looking for?" _I ask impatiently tapping my feet as she's frantically checking under couch cushions.

_"My earrings."_

Sigh. _"Which ones?"_

_"The pearl ones. The only ones that match this gown. Don't be an witling-ass, Jeb, and help me find them, or we're going to be late to dinner with Lord Ronkitonkin!"_

_"You mean the ones that you placed in the coaster on the side table over there, a few days ago? You're lucky the maids are too scared of you to take advantage of your less than 'neat-freak' ways."_

This usually earns me The Glare and a rather peevish rebuke, _"You, Captain Cain, are a vexing cheeky know-it-all son of a bitch bastard when you do that, you know? Please, be a good Consort-to-be and try not to make look or feel like an idiot."_

Pointing out that she's just jealous of my organizational skills is also hazardous to our slender thread of domestic accord.

Not all personal habits that we find grating about each other led to heated exchanges, but at some point or other we needled each other about them.

_"Az, do you really need to litter the room with dying plant genitalia?" _(a.k.a. flowers)_ "They attract bugs."_

_"Your highness, could you remember once in awhile to turn off a light when you leave a room?"_

_"Jebediah Cain, would you kindly make some noise when you move about, instead of sneaking around like a munchkin mobat-wannabe?"_

_"Such language, Jeb!...I'm sorry you stubbed your toes tripping over my shoes, but really, if you would just turn **on **a light once in awhile, instead of insisting on walking around in the dark, this wouldn't be a problem...Oh, and while we are being '__logical', if you would quit opening the windows, those pesky bugs wouldn't get in..."_

_"Yes, Princess, I agree with your sister that this gown is both flattering and no-nonsense, just like I agreed with her and Ambrose on the last three dresses. T__hose mining lords will be taking you most seriously... _What I want to know is what **you** think...I mean, have you even looked at yourself in a mirror yet?"

_"Jeb, please, put your guns and knives away. You don't truly need to clean and sharpen them **every** night before you retire for the evening. It's a rather creepy and unnecessary ritual, don't you think?"_

My annoyance with the flowers is a bit petty, I know. Having pretty reminders of life beyond the palace walls and concerns gives her strength. But cut flowers decay quickly and attract bugs, and in order to keep the bugs out, the windows have to be shut, which I like open because that reminds me that there is an outside world. The only solution so far is to add to the burden of the suite's servants by having them ensure that each blossom in every bouquet is the freshest of fresh at all times and for me to stifle my guilt for being a spoiled, demanding member of the elite.

These little bothersome habits exasperate but no longer rile and rankle as they once did. I was better able to understand these odd quirks of hers, after talking with DG, Raw, and Glitch (I mean Ambrose; she hates it when I slip up and use the nickname that her sister and my father can't seem to shake). I think she did the same with my dad, because she no longer made comments or huffs of annoyance at my charming idiosyncrasies.

Raw: _"Az not afraid of dark. **Loathes** the dark. __Witch loved dark. Dark furniture, dark clothes, and dim light to see by. Light equals Life for Az."_

DG:_ "You have to understand, Jeb, that she asks other people's opinions about her appearance because she hates looking at herself in the mirror. I'm sure you've noticed that she only has three mirrors in her rooms."_ (In fact, I had noticed but never really pondered it. However, once I did, I realized that she never looks in her bathroom mirror and never wipes it clear after fogging it up with a hot shower. I also realized that her vanity mirror is constantly covered except when she is applying make-up, the little she uses. And upon further observation and reflection, I concluded that the mirror-covered closet door of hers, which I was perpetually shutting, was kept open by her to prevent accidental self-glimpses, even from out of the corner of her eyes.)

DG: _"__When I asked her about it, Az confessed that the Witch would spend hours in front of a mirror plotting and planning and glorying in the power of her youthful beauty, almost like Snow White's step-mum. So yet another consequence of her fifteen years of captivity is that Azkadellia despises her own reflection. Makes me wish I could melt her all over again."_

Ambrose: _"Captain, now that the parasitic Witch is gone, Azkadee lacks her belief in invincibility, but more importantly, she no longer desires her own death. Your wife fears assassination."_

Az's friend and advisor had no need to elaborate any further. (He did anyways, pontificating on the subject of psychiatricology or some such boffin-speak). I knew that there were many who wanted her death, but I did not realize that it was affecting her that way, as my father and I were renowned for our over-the-top security measures. I thought she felt safe.

However, according to Ambrose: _"Your 'sneaking up on her' only triggers her fight-or-flight instincts and sets her on edge. This is further exacerbated by seeing your weapons of death set out openly in 'her sanctuary', and lovingly cared for by her partner every night - Yes, 'lovingly', the apple does not fall far from the tree, but I think you are even worse than your father in that way. Anywho, not to get off topic by the fascinating subject of nature/nurture traits ... The sight of these also trigger her deep-seated guilt and self-loathing for not being able to prevent the death and suffering caused by similar instruments at the hands of the Sorceress' minions..."_

In my defense, I too carry scars from the Dark Annuals. One develops the habit of moving stealthily so that it is involuntary as breathing, because often that is the only thing that keeps you doing so. One learns to move around in the dark, because to have a light on makes you an easy silhouetted target for any half-assed sniper, no night-vision goggles necessary. A resistance fighter always made sure his weapons were ever-ready, because a Longcoat night-raid was never a distant possibility.

I can't sleep if I haven't done this evening ritual, and I'd do it in my own room to spare her, but then I wouldn't be available for when Az wants to have her winding-down-for-the-evening chat. And so we were at an impasse.

These are the daily nitty-gritty things of our newly and more intimately united life. They are the things that drove us mad, to the edge and back again. However, for my part, I suspect, they are a significant part of what drove me mad _about_ her. Her irksome quirks also became endearing idiosyncrasies.

So yeah, one of the ways in which the eldest princess, the former Sorceress, wormed her way into my cold and embittered Resistance fighter heart was to make me want to tear out my hair on an every other day basis. Go figure.


	7. Bones, Bonds, and Chains

**Chapter 7: Bones, Bonds, and Chains**

Of the 20 months since the Assembly's Heir Ultimatum, nineteen of those months I had been married to Az (publicly only for 10). Of those 19 months, we had lived 7 of them separately (but obviously not celibately), and 12 months, a whole annual, we lived together.

And still no baby.

Fortunately for Az but unfortunately for the Gale Dynasty, DG had not gotten pregnant either. Az had given in after an annual of our trying and failing and let her and my father know that she would not resent them if they entered the Great Baby Race as well.

But each time they failed, they got to feel relieved. Az and I, however, felt more pressured. And it was taking its toll. Especially, on Az.

The few people who had hoped we or my father and DG would win the Race were now looking at how they could get their hooks into the runner-up, Zif Atto. This puppet lordling was highly favored by the greedy-grasping politicos. His father had been a war hero, spying for the Resistance, while his mother had taken him to be safe in Ev. A malleable mama's boy, he was. Always in favor of the easy route. We just didn't know if he was Vy-sor's candidate or the easily swept aside obstacle for his real one.

The Queen and Ahamo's reactions to all this didn't help matters. Azkadellia's mother had been out of practice for so long on being a mother that she had difficulty separating that role with her monarchial one, resulting in her inability to hide her disappointment and just be a comforting port in this anxiety-ridden storm. Ahamo did this much better; however, as failed conception had the prerequisite of his daughter engaging in sexual relations, he did not like to broach the subject if he could help it.

After each disappointing monthly meeting with Raw, she would become withdrawn; and if her energies were not being consumed with whatever was her current project, she would sit listlessly and gaze at nothing. And with each consecutive failure, these manic-depressive episodes would last longer. This last one had lasted over a week. Not even Horatio 'Bones', the overgrown mutt that I had gotten her, could bring a smile to her face.

Four months after our 'Rededication Ceremony' (as DG liked to call our Assembly-attended Contract Signing) was Azkadellia's birthday. That was the acknowledged reason for getting Az the walking, drooling attention man-whore of the canine species. Those in our inner circle suspected it was my attempt to cheer up my wife, for we had just celebrated our first anniversary and the childlessness was becoming more than worrisome now that we were past the halfway point.

I had gotten the idea from a former comrade in arms. He had gotten a dog for his daughter who had lost her mother to cancer of all things. I asked Raw in passing if he thought it was good idea. I can only assume he mentioned my inquiry to DG and/or Ambrose. And they in turn mentioned it to the Queen and Consort because Ahamo approached me three days later with a name of a breeder he knew.

He forgot to mention it was a breeder of Bandogges.

The litter consisted of four pups. All were brown and orange tiger-striped, except for one of the males. He had a white patch on his chest, right forepaw, and just below his lower lip. DG called it a 'soul patch'. It made him look rather jaunty. He was the friendliest, and he was lap-dog size.

The breeder forgot to pass along how much bigger they got and how much they eat.

His head was now the size of a salad dinner plate, his paws at seven months of age were the size of Azkadellia's fists, and he stood at Kalm's chest height. We expected his head to continue to grow to the size of a small serving platter. By the time he was full grown, we expected his paws to be the size of mine or worse, my father's. He was going to be around 150 pounds, if he ever gained meat on his bones.

A princess and her consort do not feed their pets. Palace servants do that. However, on top of the eating his mountain of puppy chow, he also felt the need to eat two pairs of my slippers, one of my boots, a sofa cushion, and a significant portion of the legs of every piece of furniture in all three of our suite's rooms.

But Az adored him. He could slobber and drool over her entire shoe collection, litter her room with feathers from every one of her destroyed pillows, and play keep away with the Shiz restoration plans, and he would still be her 'Horatio Darling' or 'Bonesy Sweet'. Gag.

The feeling was mutual. The two of them were a classic case of love at first sight. She looked at him and her heart melted, her typical poised and proper demeanor fell away, and she put DG the Indecorous Royal to shame. He laid eyes on her, and the center of his universe went from one sun (his stomach) to two suns (Mama-Az). I ceased to exist for nearly two weeks after his arrival. The few times my wife did acknowledge me though, I was rewarded with a beatific smile. I even got away with organizing her stuff. Granted, it was for the purpose of moving it to a 'puppy-free zone'; but still the act of getting her a dog kept me out of the doghouse, when in her previous state of emotional funk, something like that would have gotten me a nasty, snarled comment or two.

The point to all this is that if the mutt's antics didn't bring a smile to her face or she was passing off her little darling's afternoon exercise outings onto someone else consistently for a whole week, then my wife had fallen into a great pit of despair. She even quit special ordering flowers for our suite, leaving me to be pestered by the maids about it.

I cluelessly picked orange blossoms. My frustrations with being unable to fix our baby-less state precluded me from giving a damn about flower meanings. All that I could dwell on was the fact that my attempts to save her were failing (despite all medico assurances that I wasn't sterile). My 'Babies are Contrary' theory was proving to be correct.

Never have I hated to be so right.

And of course, when it rains, it pours.

At this juncture of my tale, it's been nearly four years since the Eclipse. One would think that Az and I would have talked about the Dark Annuals, her being the former Sorceress and me, the avenging son of a Tin Man, during this time. But, I guess, our relationship has never been conventional, logical, or predictable.

Oh, every once in a while, we discussed her life as the Sorceress, such as the first night of our honeymoon, or my life as a resistance fighter, but only as it pertained to my strange habits like cleaning my gun. More often than not, we discussed the consequences of her fifteen years of possession: the lingering prejudice and all the safety concerns that brings with it.

So the Dark Annuals weren't like a big ass elephant in the room. It was just that we saw no need. We both knew that we had issues, but we also knew that we were coping. So why make a big deal about it? The present had enough troubles.

But on top of the intense pressure and burden of Baby Countdown, Fate added the trial of Zero. So past and present collided creating a tumultuous emotional shit-storm.

Zero. The war criminal and worst abuser of Being-rights next to the Witch and possibly Nikadok. Dad and I had gone back for him as soon as things had settled down, the justice system up and running again, and a more secure prison could be found in the O.Z. for the likes of that snake. So nearly a month, month and a half, he was in that iron suit, compared to my father's near decade. Apparently, that was sufficient time for him to weasel out of immediate termination.

His first time before a judge, his defense representative was able to convince the Honorable Idiot with the help of Zero's outstanding performance that he was mentally incompetent and unfit to stand trial due to his "prolonged" time in the iron suit. So to a psychiatric facility, he was sent.

It took my father over three years to get a psychiatrist-medico shrewd enough to see through Zero's blithering dimwit charade and a judge to overturn the ruling.

The trial was indeed a _trial_. My father was called to the stand to witness what he knew of Zero's Sorceress-supporting activities, including his part in leading the Slaughter of the Tin Men on that dark day of Central City's history. The TDESPHTL was replayed for all the court to see of his breaking apart my family. Azkadellia was called to stand witness of the crimes that she was aware of him doing on the Witch's behalf as well as those that hadn't been ordered by her but were nevertheless thoroughly reveled in. And I was called to give testimony of his brutal murder of my mother while I watched locked in my own iron suit.

All the suppressed emotions came bubbling to the surface, and therefore, the nightmares were as intense as those first few months after Victory Day, and they did not abate when Zero was _finally_ executed.

That night, after tossing and turning in sweat-soaked sheets for hours, I gave up and headed to the sitting room to pour myself a generous glass of brandy or whiskey or whatever the hell we had that would numb the pain of grief. I thought that Az had gone to bed hours earlier, as she had no longer been making her usual agitated sounds. However, she was sitting ram-rod straight on the settee, gazing into the slowly-dying fire with her hands clasped tightly in her lap and tears pouring down her tired and wan face.

"Az?"

At my concerned inquiry, she slowly turned her anguished gaze to meet my own, whispering hoarsely, "I can't sleep. I see their faces. The victims. I see Zero and other Longcoats like him. Their gleeful expressions matching my own – matching hers – at all the misery. I hear her _dreadful _voice in my head. Her poisonous words and _laughter_. I scream – you don't hear me because I've silenced my room – but I scream only to have that gagged by their souls being sucked down my throat."

At that her carefully maintained control broke, and she let loose a despairing sob, "Oh,_ J-J-Jeb_…!"

I went to her then and held her, wrapping her up in my arms and rocked her, like my mother used to do for me, before the horrors of the war turned me into a hardened soldier.

We sat like that in silence for some time, but when all that could be heard was an occasional sniff, I began to tell her of my nightmares. Of the bloodshed. The 'death' of my father. My mother. My friends and comrades and mentors. The helplessness and hopelessness, the loneliness and despair. I hadn't told her of these things before, partially because I wanted to forget, and partially because I didn't want to sound accusatory or add to her burden of guilt. But I'm glad that I did that night. Share, not add, that is.

After my confession, the last wall between us fell and the dam burst, and to continue with the mixed metaphors, we shed our respective armor and bared our souls. We swapped war story after war story – and not the glorified and romanticized kind in which heroic moments are described, but those moments of cowardice and paralyzing fear. Of those darkest hours, when the will to fight – to leave the sanctuary of the hills to do one more Longcoat supply raid, to not succumb to the Witch's lies, to find yet another way to save an OZian and yet have it appeal to her sadism – was not there.

We shared of those un-heroic moments when we reveled in our baser bloodlusts, in the suffering of our foes. For Az, it ranged from traitors like Lonot to Viewers like Lylo. Their crime – not Seeing the truth, not Seeing _her._ For me, it was Zero, Longcoats, collaborators, and at times, basically anyone _not _in the Resistance.

We exposed the deepest darkest parts of ourselves, including the guilt and the shame for being less than a Gale or Cain ought to be.

Eventually, we felt all talked out and all that was left of the second fire that Az had magically rekindled were a few glowing embers. The relieved if not peaceful quiet that descended upon us was broken by my own hoarse and raspy chuckle, "Oh, what a pair are we."

Azkadellia did not respond with a corresponding laugh, as I expected. Instead, however, she withdrew from my embrace slightly to search my face with raw intensity. Just when I was all a manner of befuddled, she breathed huskily, "Yes, we _are_ a pair."

And then she kissed me.

I cannot coherently describe the sequence of events after that, but I do know that I eventually returned the favor.

Tongues danced. Hair and clothes were tugged at. And she straddled me at one point. I lifted her up and carried her to my room at another. (Bones was in her bedroom. No dog, purebred or mongrel mutt, was going to watch me make love to my wife.)

And make love we did.

This time it wasn't about procreation. It wasn't even about pleasing each other or expressing affection for the other. It was about _feeling _and _need_, about giving and taking, about _us_. It was about one scarred and scared and lonely soul brushing against another equally scarred and scared and lonely soul. Our souls joined and fused together just as our bodies did. We soared together, rising above all our misery as one.

Our combined orgasms were so intense that we both blacked out. And when we came to, I refrained from making a wise-crack about 'how _that_ was how sheets should become sweat-soaked', and instead just held her limp body to me, as finally my own tears began to fall.

~*~OZ~*~

The late morning sun woke me. I had meetings that I had to attend to. One of which was with her father about consort diplomacy duties. So as much as I would have liked to stay in bed with the first princess of the O.Z., I couldn't. Thus, with a shallow sigh of protest (so as not to disturb said princess who was still temptingly half-draped across me), I slipped out from under her and got into the shower.

When my morning ablutions were done, she was no longer in my room but dressed in her morning robe sipping her tea at our breakfast table, reading her newspaper. Just like any other morning.

But it wasn't. As soon as I sat down, she set aside her paper and … blushed, whispering a heartfelt _'Thank you.'_

At least half a dozen replies raced through my mind – 'my pleasure' or 'no, _thank you_'. However, I settled for reaching over and giving her hand a gentle squeeze and letting my eyes, which had locked with hers, do the talking.

Eventually, we disentangled ourselves and settled back into our comfortable routine. There was an element or undercurrent that was different however. Raw or DG or even Glitch might have been able to name it. But I was Jeb Cain and she was Azkadellia Gale, and these were unchartered waters for the both of us. But whatever this thing was – I liked it.

For two weeks, we dwelt in this idyll harmony. Life marched on. The problems of Vy-sor and Doctor Crack-pot, the greedy grasping nobles, the heir ultimatum, and the ghosts of our pasts were still there. But we had each other.

Somehow that was not love in my mind just yet. Perhaps it was because our path hadn't been the traditional one. Perhaps our arrangement as strong as it was still felt temporary. After all, our vows had an expiration date.

Whatever the case may be, I just knew that for those two weeks, Princess Azkadellia Gale was my bonded partner. We had a purpose. We had affection. And we had a deep, if slightly twisted in guilt-ridden roots, connection. (Ambrose thought we were quite the pair – mutual admirers and mutual self-loathers all in one). And we both had solid nights of restorative sleep because every night of those two weeks, Az and I slept in _my_ bed, thus keeping the nightmares at bay.

The afterglow of this experience did not last long. This new bond-thing that we had created that night was put to the test the evening Ambrose burst into my office, waving a missive frantically into the air and blurting almost Glitch-like in his agitation, "Cain. Jeb Cain! Letter from Wyatt Cain. DG's been kidnapped."


	8. Sorceress Resurrections and Revelations

**Chapter 8: Sorceress Resurrections and Revelations**

After plying the advisor with a million questions, I was able to ascertain that DG had been visiting her nurture-units in Milltown while my father was meeting with the reconstruction committee. Hank and Emily had reported that she had left them when she got a note from him requesting her presence. Problem was – he never sent such a note and the false summons sent her to a construction site on the opposite end of town.

Search parties had been sent out as soon as her disappearance was discovered, but no luck. There also has yet to be a ransom demand. My father was still down in Milltown leading the investigation and waiting for further instructions from DG's parents and hoping that Az could still feel her sister through their magical bond. Fortunately or unfortunately, Raw apparently could not sense her. He reported that every time he tried he felt 'blocked,' which everyone was hoping to mean that there was someone_ to_ block.

I asked Ambrose if he knew where Az was. He said that he didn't know. She had left her parents' apartment, after requesting that he go inform me of my father's message.

The fact that she had not done so herself meant that she needed some alone time to deal with this latest misfortune; a fact which considerably narrowed my search. It took me only half an hour to locate my wife. After checking our apartment, her favorite alcove in the library, the music room, and DG's art room, I found her in the darkened rooftop greenhouse overlooking the city.

So deep in thought was she that when I wrapped my arms around her from behind in comfort, she jumped. But then she leaned briefly into me, either to draw strength from me or to reward me for braving a possible magic attack. Either way she whispered pitifully, "I can't lose her again, Jeb. I _won't_."

"You won't. We'll get her back." I reassured.

Stepping out of my embrace, she walked towards the treated glass. Her back was ram-rod straight, and her hands were clenching and unclenching at her sides in agitation, as she declared with an odd mixture of regret and fierce determination, "Yes, I'm going to get her back, but the means by which I have to do it won't be pretty."

She then finally turned to face me. The pale light of the rising third moon illuminated liquid brown eyes, as she warned, "People will think that my true colors, my _Sorceress_ colors are showing, that I've reverted back to my old ways, or worse, that I have never changed."

This ominous foreshadowing sparked a series of images to flash through my mind, images of the Sorceress' old ways, both witnessed and recounted by others and most recently Az herself. A battle warred within me – my primal fear of all things Sorceress and what I had come to believe about my wife.

I searched her face, trying to calm my fears, trying to understand what she was requesting of me. Her face was a mask though. It was eerily blank, composed, and dispassionate. Its stillness matched the rigidity of her body, as she waited expectantly for my response. However, my wife was anything but calm. The stubborn set of her jawline and defiant jut of her chin was indicative of that. (Never did she resemble her sister more than when she wore that particularly determined expression). The true clue, however, was her liquid brown eyes. In their depths were her silent pleas for understanding, trust, and faith.

Sighing deeply, I shoved the images back into my mental Dark Annuals box and moved on, declaring, thoughtfully, "Well, strategically speaking, it's a pretty shrewd idea to use their distrust of you to our advantage…"

At my words, her hand darted out and grasped my arm as she whispered a heartfelt "Thank you."

Those damn eyes of hers nearly undid me right there, and I had the sudden dawning understanding of how my father felt when DG turned her big blue eyes on him. And I had the sudden desire to have a hat just like his so that I could tug it down to shield my gaze from her onslaught. That habit of his would also serve to guard my tongue from uttering any humiliating and sappy and un-Cain-like things that I had the urge to say.

So to restore my equilibrium, I gave her a curt nod and gruffly asked, "What's the plan, Princess?"

~*~OZ~*~

The plan was shrewd, calculating, and complicated. And above all else risky, because too many people would feel as she predicted, and possibly most would not forgive her for it.

Step one was to have the Tin Men lean on the Omby-Amby ladies. If Vy-sor was behind this, then they might know something possibly useful.

Step two was the part that may be proclaimed as "Unforgivable." Without her mother's permission – but on the basis of the authority given her in the first anti-Vysor meeting – she was going to send the Tin Men into the City and have them seize anyone suspected of connections with the Shadow Realm, Vy-sor, and Nikadok.

City-wide terror was guaranteed. However, she wanted it known that it was _her_ and not her mother giving this order. She wanted – no, we _needed_ this terror to exist, to have them imagining the very worst, so that the hardened criminals of the Underworld would be tripping over themselves to make whatever deals were necessary to appease Azkadellia's wrath.

In particular, she wanted a Vapor dealer, a bordello owner, a Shadow King, and a Princeling. Our current information seemed to indicate that they had close ties to Vy-sor and/or Nikadok. We just didn't have the means or the justification to motivate them into being cooperative little informants. Until now that is.

"Jeb, in these arrests, the Tin Men need to arrest Dame Marjolein, Dame Defaux, Ms. Amie Pegg, and Danby Dickson the Third." She instructed with quiet insistence, almost challenging me to defy her bizarre directive, or at the minimum, waiting for me to challenge it.

I didn't. I never have. And I never have for the simple fact that she has always had a good reason for whatever she has asked of me. I did, however, do what I always do, and asked her for an explanation.

"Okaaay. I get the Vapor dealer Marjolein and Defaux the bordello owner… But why Dandy Bambi? He knows next to nothing. The Shadow King's niece and nephew know more about the operation than he does. And who is this Amie Pegg?"

She shrugged and her lips curled slightly in disgust, like they always did when she was discussing the Shadow lords, as she coolly replied, "Daddy Dickson will do anything for his namesake, and Amie Pegg is a schoolteacher and the sweetheart of Princeling Ipo Pandor. She's an innocent that he will not want at the tender mercies of the Sorceress."

For some reason it was in this moment that I realized that of the two Gale princesses, I wanted this one to be Heir Apparent, which is strange considering that I had spent nearly two years of my life trying to knock this one up so that she could be just that. However, for the past two years, it did not really matter to me if it was my temporary wife or her sister, just as long as it was a Gale and I had done my best to insure that.

Now though… Now I knew that Azkadellia was what this wounded nation needed. She might not have as much adoration for her in the hearts of the populace. But she had the right combination of Darkness and Light to navigate the dangers of the O.Z.'s tainted political landscape. She was just as compassionate and just as fair as her sister. But just as importantly, she had the wisdom, cunning, and shrewdness to do what was necessary.

Time was too precious for me to tell her all of this at the time, so I simply said as I made my way out the door to carry out her orders, "Remind me to tell you the story of how I got the Commander General of the Longcoats to spill his guts about the Machine just with a pair of silver spoons. Oh, and why I want you to be my Queen."

I had the satisfaction of seeing the cracks in her carefully constructed mask break even wider and hope and… possibly something else… shine through.

It was the last glimmer I saw of _my _Azkadellia for several days. Gone was the woman who turned to me for comfort. Gone were the seeking touches of reassurance, the eyes filled with pain and sorrow and fiery warmth.

In her place was the Resurrected Sorceress, whose sole interest was finding and _saving _her baby sister. In place of the seeking touches and pain-filled eyes was a woman of cold isolation, corseted black satin, and steely purpose.

I ceased to exist. _We _ceased to exist. I was just another soldier, a tool and means to an end, an almost replacement Vy-sor, or worse Zero. To go from being her bonded partner, from experiencing the depth of intimacy and closeness that we had shared in the past two weeks, to _that_ was excruciating in its loneliness and uncertainty. I prayed for DG's safe return, for her sake, my father's, for Az's, and for my own.

But even then, even when it meant that I had to sleep alone in those few hours that I did manage to catch a wink, even when it meant that I too had to revert back to the old ways, to become the hardened and heartless resistance fighter once again, I knew that I wanted her as my sovereign. No matter the cost – emotional, relational, or otherwise.

And as I watched the lengths and depths she went to rescue DG, I realized I wanted no one else to be the mother of my children. Aside from myself, a fiercer champion and protector they could never have.

~*~OZ~*~

After a few hours of intense grilling, the ladies Omby and Amby confessed that in exchange for their 'debt' to him being forever cleared, they had told Vy-sor when DG would be most vulnerable.

This information allowed Azkadellia to invoke her Vy-sor related authority to start the first Tin Men sweep. Among the arrests were the four individuals that she specifically requested.

Dick 2.0 – as DG liked to refer to him as – was the first of these to loosen his tongue. Apparently, the combination of Sorceress Azkadellia and the ghost of his late wife was too much for him, and so for their precious son's reduced sentence, he gave up the location of where he suspected Vy-sor's headquarters currently were – an old abandoned mine on the border of Gilika and Winkia.

The Vapor whore and dealer Marjolein proved to be even more useful than expected. Once she was cleaned and sobered up from the Vapors, she revealed that she was the former nurse of the elusive Dr. Pipp, the very one that was wanted for designing the Sorceress' Viewer-Sight Sucking machine, and that Dr. Pipp and Dr. Nikadok were one and the same.

But wait there's more.

Apparently, this mad scientist had used her exclusively at his secret personal lab, entrusting her with all the security codes and measures, because he knew that her infatuation for him was so strong that betraying him was unfathomable. Not so now, considering that when he went underground and changed identities after the Eclipse, he not only hadn't taken her with him but he purposely got her Vapor-mad and left her to fend for herself on the streets.

And fortuitously, his lab and Vy-sor's suspected headquarters were one and the same.

Ipo Pandor's information provided the means by which to infiltrate this secure stronghold. However, it took much longer to crack him than was initially thought. Azkadellia's Sorceress act was not enough to put the fear of Witchcraft in his soul, even when she brought in Raw to See for her, (possibly because she was not willing to push him as much as the Witch did Lylo).

His fear of his family's retribution was much stronger, and so his snitching price was his true love's release, immunity, and their new identity in a neighboring country. Once granted, he divulged the time and place of the weapons deal between his father and Vy-sor, which provided the rescue party the opportunity to infiltrate Vy-sor's troops and sneak into Nikadok's lab/Vy-sor's headquarters. Or so we hoped.

Dame Defaux, the bordello owner, contacted one of her clients who just happened to be a lawyer. He was smooth. He was slick. And he was excellent at stonewalling the interrogation process. He was just very lucky my father wasn't around to work his intimidating Tin Man magic.

As it was, Azkadellia was so fed up with the pair of them that she personally interrupted the interrogation, ominously sweeping in to tell the tin man to cancel any deals and charge the two of them as accessories to DG's kidnapping – an act of domestic terrorism deserving of death.

This loosened up the tongue of the Sin District dominatrix, dealer in secrets as well as sex, just enough for her to archly ask Azkadellia's retreating back, "Don't you want to know why after years of cat-and-mouse Vy-sor felt the sudden urge to kidnap the slipper-bitch _now_?"

Her lips curling in a most impressive sneer, the eldest princess turned around, deigning to ask, "And of what possible and desperately imagined consequence is that to me? I already know what I need to get her back and squash this nuisance once and for all."

The brazen woman examined her lacquered nails before coolly answering with dark significance, "Oh? Welllll, if it was me, I would make sure that my darling sister wouldn't come back from that roach-squashing shindig you are having. Then again, she and that baby-to-be of hers might not have survived whatever experiments the dear doctor has planned for them."

* * *

**A/N: **As always this 'verse and all its characters are not mine. They belong to SyFy and Baum. But it's hecka fun playin' in their sandbox.

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	9. Discoveries and Declarations

_ "Oh? Welllll, if it was me, I would make sure that my darling sister wouldn't come back from that roach-squashing shindig you are having. Then again, she and that baby-to-be of hers might not have survived whatever experiments the dear doctor has planned for them."_

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Chapter 9: Discoveries and Declarations

"Baby-to-be?"

"Experiments?"

My stunned exclamation was drowned out by Azkadellia's menacing hiss.

"Yes, haven't you wondered why there hasn't been a ransom note?" Defaux replied with a smirk. "Nikadok especially requested that Vy-sor bring him the youngest and newly expecting Gale bitch to him. And since a knocked-up princess is the last thing that devious man wants…"

At this point the lawyer tried to stop her, so that his client didn't give away all their bargaining chips. But Az was done.

Planting both of her hands flat on the table and leaning forward so that she was inches from their faces, she icily stated, "Your wise-ass days are over, my dear Papay chew toys. If you do not want to end up in the moratorium mines, you will tell _all_."

I do not know if it was the overt threat of the mines, the implied threat of Papay teeth, or just her bad-ass, don't-fuck-with-me aura that finally got them to change their tune, but the lawyer shut up and Defaux dropped the attitude. She informed us, less snidely, that one of her girls had overheard a conversation between two of Vy-sor's men that the slipper princess was to be whisked away from her ivory tower because "the doc's freaks thought she had a bun in the oven."

She didn't know much beyond that. But it was enough to light the fire in Azkadellia.

Before the interrogation room's door could close behind her, she ordered, "General Fytre, send the teams to crash the weapons deal. Ambrose, draft up an announcement for Mother that we are going to Finaqua. I want the rumor mill circulating that she is caving to public outcry and banishing me. Jeb, as soon as we receive word that the deal was crashed and Vy-sor's men have been infiltrated, we'll leave here to pick up your father outside of Milltown and then join the take down team. Our cloud of disgrace should provide enough cover to not tip off Vy-sor."

No one argued with her. Ambrose looked like he wanted to, and I knew that I felt it was unnecessary and risky for her to leave the safety of the palace. But we both knew that it would be pointless. Az was not going to be separated from her sister any more than my father was his wife.

Yes, indeed, as soon as we got the happy news that Fytre's men were now Longcoats, we were off, our tires barely touching the bricks of the Old Road.

The car ride was fast, but silent. We didn't discuss the baby news. As much as I wanted to – as much as I wanted to know how this would affect us, how she felt about losing the Gale throne, how…so many things – I was not sure if my father knew, and this was not the kind of circumstances that I would want to be told. The man was barely sane as it was already.

I myself do not remember much of what happened that day. It was an agonizing car ride. It was an agonizing wait as we took up vigil at a temporary command post not far from the mine in question.

And then it was suddenly all over. The team went in and got their business done. It was quick. It was clean. Nikadok was shot in the head before he could blow up the facility, and Vy-sor was taken into custody, along with half of his regiment of men. And my father didn't even get shot.

It was beautiful to see him and DG reunited. There was lots of hugging, lots of kissing, and not a few tears shed by either party.

It was during all this hullabaloo that I turned to Az to make some smart-ass comment to lighten the emotionally heavy moment, when I saw her fall apart. Tears were streaming down her face, and her hands – no, her whole body was shaking, trembling like a leaf in the wind.

"Az?" I questioned concernedly as I strode over to her.

She waved me off, whispering her reassurance, "I'm fine, Jeb. Just tired, and I confess I can't remember when it was the last time I ate."

Sighing in relief, because this was something that I could take care of, I sent for some food and Raw.

We ate camp food just like in my old Resistance days, while the tin men and troops did mop up of Nikadok's lab. DG was held so closely within my father's embrace that it looked like they were welded together. It was rather ridiculous because she had to eat with her left hand as her right was pinned between their two bodies. Even more absurd was the internal war that was going on within him – the desire to simply bask in her presence and let her eat (all-be-it awkwardly) in peace or the desire to ask all those burning tin man questions about her captivity with the last of the Witch's henchmen.

Raw arrived in the middle of this happily comedic tableau to welcome his friend back and do a quick examination. After healing a few bruises and scrapes, he declared: "Healthy."

"And the baby?" My wife quietly asked, provoking a series of equally entertaining responses.

"Baby? Wait! What?" was my father's as he held DG away from himself so that he could alternate between scrutinizing her face and her belly for some sort of revealing bump, I suppose.

"No baby," was Raw's, his furry face furrowed in bafflement, either because he could not understand why this was or because he couldn't understand why Az would ask in the first place. I couldn't remember if he had been clued in on Defaux's revelation.

DG, however, gave a short relieved little laugh, as she explained, "Yeah, no baby. I am not, nor have I ever been prego. Apparently, Vy-sor's and Nikadok's little palace birdies thought my bout of flu that I had the other week was morning sickness. You should have seen the two of them go at each other when they found out I wasn't."

From there it didn't take much prodding to get her to relate all that she had witnessed. Vy-sor and Nikadok had an uneasy partnership, since they had two very different callings, and this was magnified by their close proximity.

Vy-sor wanted to destabilize the Gales so that he could swoop in and "restore the Just Order" by way of military law and dictatorship, which meant he greatly desired less Gales rather than more.

Nikadok wanted to explore and experiment with Gale Light and discover a way for that magic to be transferable, and for that he needed specimens, so he needed DG and what he thought was her unborn baby.

Vy-sor, apparently, had done everything in his power to ensure that DG and Az never got pregnant. He went so far as to have a hedge witch make anti-conception hex bags, which were strategically placed and hidden by a palace maid. The same maid who had reported DG's "morning sickness."

Nikadok, on the other hand, had his most gifted Viewer "specimen" monitor their health. DG concluded here that "Yeah, neither one of them was happy to learn that a little influenza bug had fooled both their vaunted spies and twisted creations."

The rest of us were not amused however. We had a spy in our midst. My father was the one to ask though, "Sweetheart, did Vy-sor happen to mention who this bi– _maid_ was?"

~*~OZ~*~

She was a chambermaid, responsible for cleaning the royal apartments and duly vetted. She came highly recommended by Countess Zingra's chief of staff, but before he employed her, she was on Lady Amby's staff. It was safe to assume that this was how Vy-sor discovered Lord Amby's and Lady Omby's affair.

During her interrogation, she duly confessed to everything, sickeningly proud of her "acts of patriotism."

She confessed to relaying intimate details of their lives to her leader.

She confessed to trying to read the reports that Az brought back to our quarters. She failed in this because unbeknownst to me, Az had glamoured these documents to look like innocuous and tedious historical treatises and the like to anyone but us.

She confessed to hiding the hex bags in places that she knew Az and I or DG and my father attempted to conceive. She was disgusted with the amount of places – places other than their personal apartment (mental shudder here) – that she had to cover for the other more _randy_ pair, while equally contemptuous of only needing one bag for Azkadellia's room for us.

Az listened to this demented woman go on and on with her sneering disgust and vitriolic diatribes against her and her family up until this point, only her face tight with exhaustion indicating her rising annoyance and frustration. And then she simply walked out. When she didn't return to the observation room, I of course followed.

What I observed was highly alarming. Az the Ever Poised and Graceful never weaves or bobs. She glides or sweeps her regal way through the world. However, she was weaving as she mechanically made her way to our apartment. So exhausted did she look, that I truly didn't expect her to make it there. I also didn't expect her to go to my room rather than hers. Nor did I expect her to have a mental break down at the sight of our bed.

She was smiling at it with manic triumph, while tears were pouring down her face. Half-sobs, half-gleeful cackles of relief and joy shook her tiny tired frame, which she seemed to be trying to hold together by clutching at her middle.

"Az?"

At my hesitant and concerned inquiry, my wife turned towards me, finally acknowledging my presence. Her brown eyes were bright with exultation, as she whispered with smug satisfaction, "Don't you _see_, Jeb?" At my no-doubt quizzical expression, she continued, "Nikadok's Viewers sensed that a new Gale Light had been conceived _and_ the maid only put one of those vile bags in _my_ room."

Here, I confess that I am my father's son. The only response that I could muster to her implication was to stare dumbfounded at her jubilant expression and then down to her hands which clutched – no, caressed – her stomach and then back up again, as I idiotically asked, "Do you mean – Are you really – Are you sure? Has- has- has Raw…?"

She shrugged one shoulder and nervously bit her lip, replying, "No, Raw hasn't confirmed it. But _I _know it. My body feels …different, and my magic is off, like it's – it's difficult to find my center…"

At my lack of response, her beaming smile dimmed and her face started to have that shuttered look that I had so come to despise in the past few days. I was about to correct this – as soon as I could form coherent thought beyond the words "pregnant", "baby", and "father" – when she stiffly asserted, "Jeb, _say _something. You're halfway home and to freedom now."

And that was the kick in the pants that I needed. At her words, I snapped and marched over to her, grabbed her dear tear-stained face between my hands, and kissed her, pouring all the emotions that were overwhelming me into that most intimate of gestures – the joy, the relief, the anxiety, the astonishment, the… love.

When we were both breathless, I broke the kiss and drew her to me. Wrapping my arms around her and tucking her head beneath my chin, I murmured, "Az, you are my home. I love you. And we could have half-a-dozen kids, and you still could not get rid of me. You are _mine_, and I am yours til death – and not some paper – does us part. I will _never_ be 'free' of you."

It was the first time I could put words to even a fraction of what I felt for the weeping princess in my arms. But now that I knew that we were going to be parents together forever, that we had together created life, I felt the last of my insecurities and doubts and barriers fade away. I knew that I could say those three powerful little words and mean them.

Az was indeed a weeping princess at this point. At my declaration, she broke down into sobs. There was no "half" anything to these. My shirt front was soaked where she had buried her face into my chest, and the parts that were dry were getting slapped with her open palm, as she declared, "You can't – just – just – just go and – and say things like that, Jeb Cain! Not to – to me! Not while I'm all hor- hormonal!"

Chuckling, I replied, "Okay. No sweet declarations of love for you. Leaking all over the place like you are might cause you to melt."

She groaned at my sad little joke and mumbled into my chest, "Devastatingly sweet one minute," (sniff) "and then you go and" (sniff) "say something like _that_. Oh, why do I put up with you again?"

I stilled at her question, not sure how to reply. My doubts were creeping back in. I knew how I felt, but…

She seemed to sense all this, because she pulled away far enough to lean back and lock gazes with me. Her red-rimmed eyes were dark with the intensity of her emotions, which she declared unequivocally, "I love you too, my incredibly obtuse fool of a husband. Will you marry me…again?"

Lacking the ability to adequately express myself verbally, I again responded by kissing her. This time it was slower, but no less intense.

When I finally did manage to have coherent thought, I broke the kiss to dryly request, "Oh wife of mine, if DG, Ambrose, or anyone else asks, can we claim that it was _I _who proposed this time?"


	10. Epilogue Epistles

_The eldest princess is like a creeping vine. She sneaks up on you, worms her way into the nooks and crannies of your soul, grabs hold of your heart and never lets go. Or at least, that's what she did to me..._

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Chapter 10 – Epilogue Epistles

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_... And so my dear sweet Adia, daughter of my heart, that is the story of how I fell in love with your mother. Many people, and possibly one day your bright and observant self, do not and will not understand our relationship. She's older, extremely stubborn, and so regally dignified as to seem coolly aloof. I'm younger, equally pigheaded, and hardened and cynical. Our 'heated discussions' are biting and nasty at times because we feel deeply passionate and/or touchy and vulnerable about certain issues. Or at least that is how some see us on our worst days._

_But I love your mother. I may not always have, but I always will._

_I have written this long-winded and most definitely overly detailed narrative because one day, if that day has not already come by the time you read this, someone will tell you the political reason for why we married and I did not want you to think that you were a child created solely to satisfy an agenda. You are a product of our love. You were desired for you and not because you were some faction's criteria for Gale succession to the throne._

_I also write this so that you understand and forgive my smothering and overbearing protectiveness. Most of my life has been dedicated to protecting and serving the people of the O.Z., as well as avenging my mother and father. Now that you have entered the Zone, my main concern is protecting and serving you. I want you to be safe. I want you to be happy. And above all else I want you to have a life that is free from the pains and hardships that your mother and I, that your grandfather and aunt, experienced. Fortunately or unfortunately, my Boy Scout Syndrome has a new Cause to focus on, and that is you._

_With a heart full and overflowing with love, your father,_

_Jebediah Cain_

~*~OZ~*~

_Dear Adia-Liora,_

_I have my own letter that I wish to write to you, but I felt it necessary to add my two-cents to this epistle. By the time you read this, it will be much edited – a fact you will be eternally grateful for as your father has gone into far too much detail about the particulars of our relationship. The man is a deep well, as your grandfather likes to say, which makes him a highly conflicted individual. And this makes him a perfect match for me, but also has the result of him not knowing or understanding himself very well. Thus, I think this letter is not only his attempt to explain us to you, but to also explain us to himself as well._

_My thoughts on all this is that we are not so complicated. Your father is my hero. He's not a knight in shining armor, but a rusty tin one. We Gale women have no use for men who spend their time polishing their suits. My mother fell in love with a carnival man, someone who could see through court bullshit, someone who could be straight with her while yet help her navigate and manipulate her toxic environment, someone who loved her and was so devoted to her that he waited for her for 15 annuals. My sister fell in love with an actual Tin Man. Wyatt Cain is as devoted as they come, and the only thing he polishes is his six-shooter. And I have found the same caliber of man as they did._

_Your father has been an anchor for my troubled soul since I first met him. He was the first person I laughed with since I was me again. He was uncertain of me, but he was still willing to look past his fear to share in a moment of untainted joy. And I knew that I was in love with him by our first anniversary. (How can a girl resist a man such as he, a man who steadfastly stands by her at great personal sacrifice?)_

_I do not know which hurt more that year, being childless and letting my family down again or being childless and thus hastening the dissolution of our union and partnership._

_So, my child, the very knowledge of your existence has brought me and your father much joy. Your father finally realized that he loved me. His declaration vanquished the Witch once and for all, silencing her poisonous whispers that declared I was unlovable and undesirable._

_And just so you know, we did have an actual rededication ceremony. It was an intimate and private one at Finaqua. Your uncle Ambrose and auntie DG took thousands of pictures. Half of which I think has your father caressing my stomach._

_In fact, it was very fortunate that your father confessed his love for me when he did, because for roughly the next nine months, the man talked to you, describing all his hopes and dreams and declaring his love for you and to you more than he did me. And since your birth, he has almost waxed poetical about your perfection from your curly raven locks and your bright hazel eyes to your wee little toes, from your tight strong grip to your gurgling "untinkly" chortles. And I confess, I am just as guilty._

_Adia, since you are blessed and cursed to be both a Gale and a Cain, you will no doubt have a knack for finding trouble and adventures, for which your father and I will inevitably scold you for. Our diatribes will be done out of both fear and love, but never, dear one, because we are disappointed in you._

_With a heart overflowing with love, your mother,_

_Azkadellia Gale-Cain_

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The-very fluffy-End.

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**A/N: **I hope you enjoyed this story half as much as I did writing it ; )

Adia means 'gift' in Swahili.

Liora means 'my light' in Hebrew.

Thanks for all the reviews!


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